


Too Long in the Wasteland

by Swordy



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind Ignis Scientia, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Hurt Ignis Scientia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, World of Ruin (Final Fantasy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 89,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29784915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordy/pseuds/Swordy
Summary: “Guys? Where's Ignis?” Gladio asks, more forcefully this time.And fuck, if Iris isn’t reaching for his hand. Physical contact for bad news. “We... we don’t know, Gladdy.”Don’t know?Unconsciously he pulls his hand away. Iris looks at it, hurt, before she meets his gaze again with damp eyes. Her lip trembles. “He left one day and we don’t know where he's gone.”—————————In Cartanica Gladio forces Noct to send Ignis back to Cape Caem, setting off a chain of events that will change both of their lives forever.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 105
Kudos: 58
Collections: World of Ruin Big Bang





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story sat on my To Do list for a very long time. To be honest, I wasn’t sure it'd ever get beyond being just an idea. Then the World of Ruin Big Bang happened and I realised it was the ideal fit for this challenge. I still wasn’t 100% sure that I’d end up writing it though so I signed up to do a mini bang, but worked on this story in the background. Then I guess I took off and here it is. I thought I was telling a story about Ignis, but it actually turned out to be Gladio's story all along. And that’s fine with me because I love the guy. 
> 
> My heartfelt thanks go to Nix and Atropa for their thoughts, comments and being just wonderful friends. This story is all the better for them and their support. Any remaining errors are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> Thank you also to audreyskdramablog and crazyloststar for organising the challenge. It’s been amazing and I’m so glad I decided to take part!
> 
> The astoundingly gorgeous art is by the fair hand of [RecipehforSuccess](https://twitter.com/recipehsart?s=21), another person who must take credit for this story seeing the light of day. Thank you, lovely. I seriously can't wait for people to finally see your art because I’ve been bigging it up for so long now!
> 
> To anyone about to embark on this (not so little) tale. I honestly hope you enjoy it, please feel free to let me know if you have. Also, as this story is from Gladio's POV, I'm sorely tempted to write other fics about the parts he’s not present for. If anyone would be interested in reading them please say. :)
> 
> This story contains canon and non-canon details, people and places. Please employ appropriate hand-waving where necessary.

“So lemme get this straight,” Aldus says, leaning back against the weight bench and lacing his fingers behind his head. “It's free food, free drink, you’re surrounded by beautiful women who all wanna fuck you and you’re _complainin'_?”

Gladio gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head as he lies back and settles his grip on the barbell. What the fuck possessed him to say anything about tonight's formal dinner is beyond him given how well previous conversations on this subject have gone. He tunes out his friends' laughter and focuses on lifting cleanly. Somewhere over his left shoulder Aldus is still talking, full of shit as usual. Unfortunately he's not gonna to drop it just because Gladio won’t bite.

“... I mean, you ain't gonna get any sympathy here, Amicitia,” Aldus is saying to a chorus of agreeing murmurs, “You get that, right?”

Deliberately taking his time, Gladio re-racks the weights and shakes out his hands as he sits up. Three sets of eyes are on him, waiting for his answer. He reaches over for his water and takes a long, slow drink. Let them wait.

Truth is, he isn't interested in _any_ of the women who throw themselves at him. He'd figured that out four years ago, age eighteen, when he'd fantasised about sex and realised that it never featured tits and pussy.

“And it ain’t like you’ve got any real competition; the prince is spoken for and that chamberlain of his has _gotta be gay_ , I’d bet my ass on it.”

There’s a split second pause and then the training room erupts into whooping and jeering.

“Ahhhhh, Aldus!”

“Who's gay now, huh?”

“You’re the one talkin' about asses, Aldus!”

Punching follows, although it’s just horseplay. No one appears to notice that Gladio has collected up his things until he slings his gym bag over his shoulder.

“Where you goin', Amicitia?” Decimus asks without loosening his grip on the headlock he has Aldus in and grimacing as he takes a punch to the kidneys.

“Got stuff to do,” Gladio replies over his shoulder as he heads to the door. “See you guys later.”

Their voices echo down the corridor as he walks to the changing rooms. It’s still early, and there’s no one else in here, or so he first presumes until he hears the creak of a locker being closed and then soft footsteps on the tile.

“Gladio.”

Ignis is standing there, dressed in shorts and t-shirt with water bottle and towel in hand. He looks surprised, then his eyes do that quick, suspicious dart to see if there’s anyone else in here. A flush hurries to his cheeks. “I didn’t know you were training this morning.”

“Yeah,” Gladio replies, trying to ignore the smooth curve of Ignis's bicep as he holds up his water or the way the grey t-shirt hugs the slim lines down to his waist. Ignis is beautiful and grows more so with each passing year as he emerges from the years of puberty, which were less kind to him.

“Gotta run through operations for this evening so I won’t have time later.”

“Oh, of course.”

Ignis sounds guilty like he should have known. He does that awkward shuffle, like he’s trying to make himself invisible and Gladio involuntarily clenches his jaw. He’s not angry with Ignis—he's not done anything wrong—he's simply the nearest target to take his frustrations out on.

Leaving his bag on the bench Gladio stands and crosses the room in several quick strides. There’s no sound of anyone approaching and unwittingly Ignis has positioned himself out of view of the door so Gladio snatches the opportunity to kiss him. The embrace is a fraction more aggressive than assertive, an outlet for the pent-up energy that his training session didn’t fully sate. Ignis reciprocates even though his arms are pinned to his chest, his eyes fluttering closed as he tips his head back further. They pull apart at the sounds of laughter from the training room; no one is coming this way, but it’s a reminder that the real world is still out there. Gladio cups Ignis's face, his thumb smoothing over the warm skin.

“Once this shit's out of the way tonight, we're gonna spend some decent time together, okay?”

Ignis nods, his eyes closing briefly again. There’s another noise, this time definitely the sound of someone approaching from the corridor.

“I should go,” Ignis says reluctantly.

“Yeah.” Gladio says, diving in for a final kiss before stepping back to put appropriate distance between them a fraction of a second before the door starts to open. A glaive walks in and they both nod a greeting at him, which is reciprocated before he heads down the first row of lockers and disappears from view.

“I’ll see you,” Gladio says, his voice so dispassionate that it’s simply a statement of fact.

“Yes.”

Ignis pushes his glasses up his nose in a quick, stabbing gesture. It’s not a nervous habit as such—Ignis isn’t some shy, retiring librarian-type no matter what his appearance implies—but it’s fair to say he's fuelled by nerves, reminding Gladio of a fox: darting and watchful, ceaselessly vigilant. Despite his youth, Ignis is fiercely intelligent. Saying he stays several moves ahead is an understatement; the reality is Ignis has mapped out the whole damn game before the other person has even got their pieces out of the box. Gladio's seen him tear an elder councilman's argument to shreds—never out loud, Ignis is far too deferential for that—but alone later on, he can detail every flaw in a plan if Gladio asks him to.

Ignis's intensity extends to the bedroom too. Prior to their relationship becoming an intimate one, Gladio had notched up a modest number of partners, but all those other experiences _put together_ can’t hold a torch to what they have. Ignis is a bold and attentive lover. He instigates intimacy as much as Gladio and is solely responsible for Gladio discovering a whole load of interesting things about what he likes to do in bed. Appearances are however deceptive, and Gladio would be the first to admit he’d shared his friends' judgments about Ignis when he hadn’t known him.

But it isn’t just about sex. It sounds like some fanciful romance novel shit to say they have a deeper connection, but it’s true. They’ve both got roles in relation to Noct that come with serious responsibilities so they understand each other's burdens better than any civilian could. But even that doesn’t get to the nub of what it is they have. It’s an unquantifiable pull, an ache that’s only bearable when they’re together. Ignis makes him happy, makes him _whole_. And despite that burden being what links them, he can forget about it completely when he’s with Ignis. 

Not that he can tell anyone else this. As an Amicitia his life's pretty much mapped out for him and having a male partner, let alone one who could create such a massive conflict of interest for him as Noct's chamberlain, would be a punishable offence in the eyes of the royal court. And then there's his dad. Clarus Amicitia is the dictionary definition of 'strait-laced'. Gladio's his firstborn, heir to the Amicitia name, his future dictated before he was even conceived. He's to be a worthy honourable shield, who will marry a woman of good standing and father a child who will be shield to Noct's own heir. Textbook. An admission that his son is in love with Ignis Scientia and therefore only intends to fulfil the first part of that destiny... it's fair to say the thought of Clarus knowing his heart keeps Gladio awake at night.

Sometimes though, he steps beyond that fear and imagines what would happen if everyone were to find out about them. He pictures them cast out of their roles, but in this fantasy it's a _positive_ thing and with nothing to hold them back, they escape from the city and into the world beyond. Out there they have a house—a _home_ —far from civilisation. He pictures white walls and terracotta tiles. Near a lake or the coast maybe. Somewhere he can fish. And Ignis will have a garden. Something beyond the pathetic window boxes he keeps at his shoebox apartment. A riot of colours as well as herbs and vegetables that he'll use for cooking. The most important detail however is they’re happy and in love, with no one around to control their lives.

Deep down Gladio knows he should probably let Ignis go. It’s a guilt that gnaws at him constantly. Ignis is a good man who deserves better than all the subterfuge and secrecy. He tries to be that man as best he can, but it’s always within the constraints of his position. As shield his life belongs to Noct. As an Amicitia, his choice of mate belongs to his father and the traditions that must be upheld. To his friends he must embrace the privilege afforded to him by both without complaint. His is a life to be envied and any attempt to argue otherwise is met with derision and, in no small measure, resentment. So Gladio's learned to keep his mouth shut and thank the Gods daily that he happened to fall in love with the only other person who truly understands that there are downsides to his life.

The only thing he knows for certain is it’s a situation with no happy ending. There’ll come a day when Clarus will pressure Gladio to find a bride. Or maybe Ignis will decide he wants to be with someone who can love him freely. And yeah, maybe Gladio resents Ignis a little bit for that. Because despite his role and its responsibilities he's still a free man. Ignis _chooses_ duty over freedom. And frankly that makes no fucking sense to Gladio.

When Ignis is in his arms however, his weary acceptance of the practicalities go out of the window. He can’t marry anyone else when he knows with terrifying certainty that Ignis is the only person he’ll ever love and he finds himself entertaining wild fantasies where he tells his father that. _Forever_ , he tells Ignis and means it with every ounce of his being, to which Ignis smiles in that gentle way of his and says, _forever is a long time, Gladio_. And Gladio ignores that half-hearted protest to kiss him again. When they come up for air he says, _yeah, but it's as good a length of time as any_.

Maybe their story is doomed. But Gladio's not prepared to go down without a fight.


	2. Chapter 1

Since everything went to shit at the Altar of the Tidemother, Gladio often wakes up wishing he was back in Insomnia, until, in that slow bleary rise to full wakefulness, he remembers that Insomnia is gone too. How long since they first arrived here in Altissia? A quick calculation as he lies staring at the ornate ceiling of his suite tells him almost four weeks have passed. So then that’s three weeks since he scooped Ignis up and carried him back here to the Leville and contemplated the idea that Ignis almost died protecting Noct. Not himself, who's Noct's _actual goddamned shield_. Maybe that’s why he’s always in such a bad fucking mood these days. That, and the relentless sting of guilt and failure that stabs at his heart every time his eyes land on Ignis's ruined face.

His watch tells him it’s still early, confirmed by the minimal noise from the outside world. In an hour or so, the traders will start to arrive, but there’s still a kind of muted horror that’s spread to even the undamaged parts of the city. With neither the energy nor the enthusiasm to get up he closes his eyes and lies there, wondering if the red-black nothingness of his eyelids is what Ignis now faces every second he’s awake. Like being assigned to a room with a terrible view with no option to move.

Ever the optimist, Ignis has told Noct and Prompto that there’s still hope—that his one remaining eye might regain some of its vision and that he'll be good old Ignis again in no time at all. It’s a lie obviously, but Gladio is yet to work out whose benefit it’s really for. He sat with Ignis while the doctors examined him and—more importantly—he _knows_ how Ignis acquired his injuries, so Gladio knows there’s no point buying into the lie, too. There’s no fucking hope. None. Ignis's eyesight has followed Luna and Regis and their whole fucking city into the great beyond and there's not a damn thing any of them can do about it. He held Ignis tight after his confession about the Ring of the Lucii, stifling his own grief so that Ignis could mourn freely. _It’s gonna be okay_ , he'd said, as Ignis had clung to him, a whispered mantra he'd been no closer to believing even after its hundredth repetition. 

As far as Noct and Prompto are concerned, Ignis lost his eyesight helping with the evacuation effort and stupidly Gladio's allowed himself to be sworn to secrecy, even though he wants nothing more than to tell Noct it’s the fucking ring and at least someone's got the balls to put the damn thing on. But he won’t betray Ignis. No matter how much it pisses him off. 

The lie that his eyesight might return Gladio expected—anything to give Noct even just a glimmer of hope when he awoke to be told Luna was dead and Ignis was gravely injured. What perhaps surprises Gladio more is Ignis's unequivocal stance that he should continue on with them. He’d watched Noct and Prompto exchange glances, expressions guiltily unguarded since Ignis couldn't see them, and witnessed their disbelief. I mean, how the hell does Ignis think he can come with them now? But he saw their relief too, because no one's under any illusion about Ignis's role in their little group. He’s the glue that binds them all and despite his obvious limitations now, Noct and Prompto still want him around because, well, heaven forbid they have to make decisions for themselves.

So Ignis gets his way and Gladio holds his tongue. But he doesn’t like it. Correction—he fucking _hates_ it. He’s known Ignis all his life and he knows the Ignis he sees now is just a façade, behind which the pieces are shattered. He's devastated and adrift. And yet he acts like it’s some minor fucking inconvenience, rather than a major life-changing event. If only Insomnia's walls had been as impenetrable as the ones Ignis has thrown up.

If that isn't bad enough, twenty-four hours from now they’re due to leave the relative safety of Altissia and head north. Into enemy territory, for fuck's sake. Admittedly they’ve done some dangerous shit since they left Insomnia, but taking a trip to Gralea with a despondent prince, a newly-disabled chamberlain and the empire hot on their heels is suicide, plain and simple. 

Prompto, for all his lack of formal training, isn't actually that bad a fighter. Sure, Gladio had his reservations at first—who wouldn’t? The kid's probably a hundred pounds, soaked through. When Noct first announced he was coming with them on the trip Gladio had had something close to a conniption in private to Ignis at the thought of trying to keep Noct and now this civilian out of harm's way, but Prompto has proved himself to be a quick learner and has actually been a help rather than the hindrance Gladio was expecting him to be.

So maybe— _maybe_ —he, Prompto and Noct _could_ make their way behind enemy lines and fight their way out again with the crystal, but not if they’re toting Ignis's injured ass. Gladio's developed this weird visual analogy for himself where he's expected to juggle three balls, but one of them is inexplicably much heavier than the other two. And, not that he could ever admit it, much more precious than the other two. It might only be one, but it destroys the symmetry and fucks up his balance, resulting in him dropping all of them. He hasn’t tried to explain this metaphor to Ignis because Ignis is a smart guy and he already knows which ball he would be.

Before they get to Gralea though, they’re going to make a pitstop in Cartanica. Something about a royal tomb under the mine at Fodina Caestino, according to Cor. These fucking royals and their insistence on building tombs in far flung, crazy-ass places. Of course Ignis is planning on coming there too, because an abandoned mine is an ideal first trip out when you’ve just lost your fucking eyesight.

Somehow Gladio musters the energy to drag himself from his bed, shower and get dressed. The other bed in the suite is empty, a not-quite-successful attempt to straighten the covers having taken place while he was sleeping. There's a vial of pills on the bedside table and the lid isn't quite on properly, indicating that someone has felt the need for its contents. They’re pain meds prescribed by the doctor who attended to Ignis—strong, yet still not strong enough to blanket the pain of his injuries completely judging by the almost imperceptible tells that only Gladio seems to pick up on.

Same as all the other days, Ignis will be in Noct's suite, trying to coax Noct into acting like an actual king. And same as always, Noct will be moping and sullen and apparently oblivious to the fact that Ignis is suffering. Deep down Gladio knows that isn’t true, but it serves his own pain to think that way. Ignis is Noct's brother in all but blood and of course he’s devastated by what's happened. But selfishly Noct still needs Ignis in whatever shape he’s in and therein lies the problem, because the only way Ignis is going to bench himself is if Noct makes him. And that ain't gonna happen. So this issue continues to circle, casting a pall over the weeks they’ve spent here in Altissia.

Gladio ignores the complaints from his stomach and heads down the corridor to Noct's suite. Before he can reach the door, it opens and Prompto, just heading out and concentrating on his phone, almost jumps out of his skin. Gladio looks at him dispassionately, unable to decide if he’s relived or not that Prompto's not holding a gun.

“Hey, big guy,” Prompto says on a shaky laugh, jumping back to allow Gladio into the room. “Just gonna grab us some breakfast. D’you want anything?”

“Thanks. Whatever you’re getting will be great.”

Prompto nods, shifting his weight like he can’t wait to get out of here. Unsurprising really since the tension whenever the four of them are together is as heavy as the dawn fog that rolls across the plains of Duscae. Or maybe it’s just whenever Gladio's here since he’s the only one still trying to act like a responsible adult at this point.

“You need any money?” he asks.

“Nah, I’m good. Be right back.”

Gladio watches Prompto hot-foot it to the elevator, then heads into the suite, clicking the door shut behind him. The drapes have all been pulled back, flooding the suite with light. Noct is awake, but he’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, barefoot, hair askew, his expression downcast. His eyes, when they meet Gladio's, are wary. They’d had words last night, not quite an argument, but enough to ensure a moderate level of discomfort; all because he’d had the temerity to ask Noct if he was ever planning on using the ring Luna had sacrificed herself to get to him. He'd felt Ignis's glare as he’d said it, but it’s tough. He promised he wouldn’t tell Noct Ignis had worn the ring, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna stop reminding Noct he needs to step up and act like a fucking king.

Now Ignis is sitting on the footstool, head bowed, hands resting atop the cane gifted by Camelia Claustra. It's a little ornate for a practical item, but at least someone is being realistic about his future needs, even if the recipient still refuses to be. If Ignis is still angry with him he won’t let on, in case it invites a rematch.

“We were just discussing plans,” Ignis says into the silence since no one else wants to go first.

“Yeah?” Gladio says with false brightness. “So my input ain't required now?”

Noct's looking down at his hands but Ignis doesn’t so much as flinch. “Not at all,” he says crisply. “It didn’t sound like you had a good night's sleep last night so I didn’t wake you. My apologies. Obviously more detailed discussions would have waited until you were up.”

“It ain’t me that needs to sleep,” Gladio grumbles, turning his gaze on Noct who looks up guiltily. “Ignis should be resting.”

“I’m fine, Gladio,” comes the reply, and there’s something satisfying about the annoyance that bleeds through the carefully constructed façade. Proof that he’s still human.

“Like hell you are.”

Ignis lets out a sigh. At this point he’d usually be shooting Gladio a ' _not now_ ' look, something that says we'll do this, but not in front of Noct. But with that no longer an option to him, he settles instead for breathing out his displeasure.

“The doctors said so, Iggy. You know, those same doctors who prescribed you those pain meds that you still need?”

Pinched expression, pursed lips. More irritation that this is happening with an audience. “Believe me, Gladio, I know my limitations and I’m not going to push myself. That benefits no one. But it doesn’t change the fact that we have important issues to deal with.”

Duty. Something that forever will be Ignis's trump card to avoid having to worry about himself. Given his own role, Gladio holds exactly the same card, but he likes to think he doesn’t play it the same way Ignis does. Or he wouldn’t in this situation if the roles were reversed. 

“Believe me, Iggy I know. Which is all the more reason we shouldn’t be rushing onto Gralea.” 

“Unfortunately with the Empire circling we don’t have the luxury of time—”

Gladio opens his mouth, the response in his head already too loud, too antagonistic, but it’s cut off by Ignis's phone. It no longer rings with the familiar _Justice Monsters Five_ ringtone Noct programmed in for a joke several years back—instead it intones the caller's name since Prompto adjusted the accessibility settings. It takes Gladio a few seconds to place the name until he realises it’s the guy they spoke to about getting the Regalia transported from the dockside to the train. Ignis takes the call, leaving Gladio and Noct privy to only his side of the brief conversation, but given his repeated murmurs of assent, it appears the arrangements are proceeding as planned. 

“Okay. I appreciate your assistance. Many thanks.”

Gladio watches as Ignis ends the call, his finger sliding across the surface of his phone until he finds the raised surface of the button. He then slides the device into the inside pocket of his jacket with a smoothness that belies his blindness. For a mad moment, Gladio pictures him alone, obsessively practising that again and again, like it'll somehow prove that he’s not helpless.

“So what’s the deal?” he asks.

Ignis turns in the direction of his voice. He’s actually not far off although his head is still lowered, closed eyes hidden behind his darkened lenses. “The Regalia will be loaded onto the train this evening. The first minister has agreed to provide a military presence around the station until we depart in the morning.”

Great. Once the Regalia's on that train, they’re getting on it whether Gladio likes it or not. Which he doesn’t. Not that he’s got an argument beyond the one he’s expressed a thousand times already: _You ain’t ready. You’re gonna get yourself killed_. 

“Great,” Gladio says eventually without enthusiasm. He turns to Noct, who still hasn’t spoken a word since he first arrived. “You okay with this?”

Noct's eyes widen, caught off guard, evidently figuring the conversation belongs only to the grown ups in the room. Figures. He won’t wear the ring because that'd mean taking responsibility and he won’t tell Ignis he can’t come with them because it’s too difficult a conversation. He looks away, flushing slightly.

“Uh, yeah. We have to get to Gralea. We can’t stay here forever.”

Noct sounds about as enthused about the idea as Gladio feels. Maybe he knows it’s suicide too. After a moment Gladio breathes out his frustration—it doesn’t help—then throws up his hands.

“Fine. We’d better get packed up then.”

OoOoO

Gladio hates Cartanica on sight. 

Maybe it’s because he’s a city boy, but the dusty, shitty little Podunk place instantly frays his already tattered nerves as the train pulls into the station with a screech of grinding metal. The other three are further down the carriage, a result of an earlier disagreement, when Gladio had let his temper get the better of him and fists had almost been thrown. Gladio's not proud of himself for that, but Noct needs to get his head in the game. His sulking was bad enough in the relative safety of Altissia, but now they’re on the move again, they could quickly find themselves in danger if they get lost in their own heads. Fortunately they’ve all calmed down since then, making the earlier blow up feel a little surreal now. Only the wary glances from other passengers as Gladio makes his way to where the others are sitting serves as proof that it ever happened at all.

Prompto is at Ignis's side, his hand hovering near the small of his back and Gladio experiences a rush of jealousy that Prompto has slipped so easily into that role. A role that should be his, _would_ be his, if only he didn’t have to babysit Noct. The irony is Noct would be perfectly happy to let Gladio take care of Ignis—it’s Ignis himself who won’t hear of it, since Gladio's supposed to be _Noct's_ shield. 

The heat hits them as soon as they disembark. The skies are clear, giving little shelter from the relentless glare of the afternoon sun. They’d been warned that civilisation in Cartanica consisted of the station platform and the handful of traders that operate here, but at the time it had felt like exaggeration. Now it’s clear the description was spot-on. If anything it didn’t go far enough.

“So what now?” Prompto asks as their group stands huddled, other passengers streaming around them. Gladio glances at Ignis, to the tension in his posture and the lines creasing his brow. He tries to imagine what it’s like being somewhere new without such a vital sense as sight and knows instantly he’d hate it. How he'd almost certainly be consumed by a vulnerability and sense of helplessness that is completely alien to him. However well Ignis seems to be coping, he needs time to adjust before they attempt to find any fucking royal tomb.

“First, lets grab ourselves some accommodation,” Gladio says before anyone can suggest an alternative plan. “There are a few sleeper cars, so we need to make sure we've got one of those otherwise we'll be sleepin' on a bench. Then we should get some food.”

He receives enthusiastic nods from Noct and Prompto, the former looking relieved that they’re not about to start searching the mine today.

“Very well,” Ignis replies, “it would be useful to run an inventory in case there’s anything we can purchase first.”

_Bullshit_ , Gladio thinks, because Ignis's brain is just one big inventory of everything they’ve ever had in their possession since they left Insomnia. And yeah, given recent events he could be forgiven for letting those numbers slip with more pressing matters at hand, but somehow Gladio doubts it.

“Great. Let’s get going then.”

OoOoO

It takes them all of about an hour for them to reserve a sleeper car and get the lay of the land in Cartanica. Food is next on the agenda, and they sit in the dining car, the sun setting over the desolate landscape, picking over something that apparently qualifies as a meal. Conversation is muted and minimal. Ignis looks like he’s running on fumes from even just a fairly uneventful train journey. Gladio desperately wants to be alone with him, but they’re all on top of each other here as much as they ever were whenever they camped. Then Noct announces that he wants to go and play some King's Knight, and— _thank the gods_ —Prompto says he’s up for that too.

“Don’t stray too far,” Ignis cautions.

“We won’t,” Noct promises, with none of the eye rolling that Ignis's mothering tendencies usually generates. The two of them slide out of the booth and when they come back into view Gladio watches them head over to one of the empty benches on the platform and sit down. Satisfied they're not going to get themselves into any trouble, he then turns his attention back to Ignis. His irritation bleeds away, replaced by an overwhelming urge to scoop the other man into his arms and take him far away from here.

“You all done?” he asks, eyeing the congealing remnants of Ignis's meal.

“I believe so.”

“Come on then.” The booth is too small for legs as long as his, making standing up both torture and relief. “Lets get outta here.”

Ignis doesn’t ask where they’re going, but silently allows Gladio to guide him out of the dining car, his cane held out in front of him. It’s a short walk through to the sleeper car, and although their accommodation is cramped, they can at least be alone. He guides Ignis to sit on one of the bunks, before taking the one opposite, their knees touching across the narrow gap. He studies Ignis's face and feels the vice tightening around his heart.

“Okay. How you doing, Iggy? You don’t need your game face on with me.”

Ignis smiles humourlessly and removes his glasses. He carefully massages the bridge of his nose for a few moments, the action allowing him to consider his response first.

“It's... difficult, I'll admit.”

Gladio snorts. Nothing like an Ignis-level understatement to start the conversation. “Difficult.”

Ignis seems to ignore that or just isn’t listening. “Altissia was different. I realise now that my rehabilitation there consisted of remapping a place I already knew. I suppose I didn’t realise how much I was drawing on those visual memories to find my way around.”

Gladio holds himself completely still. Is this an admission that Iggy knows he can’t carry on with them? Eventually he says, “what are you saying, Iggy?”

Ignis doesn’t shrug—he rarely does anything so inelegant—but the suggestion of it is there all the same.

“That my confidence was perhaps a touch misplaced?”

It’s impossible not to feel that rise of hope. Iggy's gonna bench himself, removing the need for any ugly confrontation between them. “You're doin' amazingly; I don’t think I’d cope as well as you have. And there’s no shame in knowing it’s time to quit—”

“Quit?” Ignis echoes, sounding baffled. He sits a little straighter, increasing the gap between them slightly so that their knees are no longer touching. It feels deliberate even though it undoubtedly isn’t. “What on Eos makes you think that?”

_Shiva's tits_.... “Iggy,” Gladio says, the word expelled on a sigh. Ignis's question has crashed down on them like the tide, obliterating the hope that this would end easy. “You just said yourself; it’s harder than you thought it would be.”

“Harder, but still not impossible.”

Gladio gapes. He studies Ignis, less mobile than the statues of the old kings that stood sentry around Insomnia's walls and all at once experiences a rush of love and fury so strong that for a moment he can’t speak. Iggy's gonna get himself killed and he’s asking Gladio to be complicit.

The rage quickly gives way to sorrow—fortunate really, since blowing up at Ignis will get them precisely nowhere. He scrubs a hand across his beard, shaking his head even though Ignis can’t see it.

“For fuck's sake, Iggy,” he says softly. “How am I gonna be Noct's shield when I need to protect you too?”

Ignis's head snaps up. He attempts a glare, the effect of which is lost slightly since it's coming from one eye only and focussed on a spot just over Gladio's shoulder.

“I won’t hear of it,” he says sharply. “You have a sworn duty, as do I, so you'll focus on that. I refuse to let you burden me with your bad decisions.”

“Bad decisions? You’re seriously gonna talk to me about bad decisions? Holy shit...”

Gladio's anger rekindles, heat flushing his body. On the train he’d shoved Prompto away when he’d tried to intervene between him and Noct. The last thing they need is for it to get physical here. Instead he moves to leave, swallowing down his frustration as he stands.

“I'm gonna go check on those two. D'you need anything or any help with anything before I go?”

“I don’t believe so, no.”

Gladio takes one last look, frustrated and yet so desperately in love with this man it’s like a physical pain in his chest. 

“Get some rest, Iggy,” he says softly, his hand resting against the doorframe. “It’s gonna be a big day tomorrow.”

Ignis nodding is the last thing Gladio sees as he closes the carriage door and goes off to find the other two. 

OoOoO

In the morning they get ready in shifts, a necessity in the cramped space of the sleeper car. Breakfast is eaten quickly, with minimal conversation. Gladio doesn’t doubt the other two are finally coming to the realisation that they’re about to take their friend and brother into an environment he has no business being. Noct's nerves advertise themselves in the way he continually fusses with his hair once they’re done eating. Collectively they decide it’s time to get going.

“Hey,” Gladio says catching Noct's arm before he can walk off too. Wide blue eyes meet his warily before Gladio returns to tracking Prompto and Ignis walking down the platform together, the former's gentle touch on the latter's elbow stirring ugly, irrationally angry feelings within him again. In a low voice he says, “I need to speak to you.”

Noct nods, probably wishing he were the one supporting Ignis so he has an excuse not to be here. The subject matter is almost certainly one he’s not interested in getting into. May as well put him out of his misery.

“I need to talk to you about Iggy.”

Noct's expression tightens. Maybe he was expecting a lecture about the ring again. Or maybe this is exactly the conversation he didn’t want to have. “Okay.”

“You know he’s hell-bent on coming with us to Gralea and you know damn well that he can’t.” In the distance, Prompto and Ignis are standing in front of one of the vendors. Prompto is holding a strange shaped object and talking, presumably describing it to Ignis. “He shoulda stayed in Altissia, but I couldn’t make him and you weren’t stoppin' him either so I figured let him come this far; once we’ve had to find our way to a royal tomb in the ass-end of nowhere he’ll realise that it's insane to think he can take on the empire as he is.”

“Maybe,” Noct replies glumly although it’s possible to detect a hint of defiance. Fucking hell. He’d suspected Noct was still hoping for a miracle but decided even he couldn’t be that naive. Turns out he was wrong about that too. 

“He's going back to Lucis, Noct. He's going back because you’re gonna make him.”

The words hang between them, waiting to be challenged. Noct even looks like he’s thinking about it, gods help him. Despite his annoyance, Gladio softens his tone and tries again. 

“He's gonna get himself killed, Noct. Can you honestly tell me you’ll be able to live with yourself when that happens?” Not if. _When_. “You need to make him go back to Cape Caem where Monica and Iris can look after him.”

“But—”

“Make it an order. Tell him the alternative is you dismiss him from your service.” Noct looks horrified at the prospect of managing without Iggy, even in his current condition. Or maybe it's just the prospect of having to tell Ignis that for once their next steps are ones the strategist himself hasn’t planned and won't be part of. He just needs Noct to see that sending Ignis back to Lucis isn’t worst case scenario and then he’s more likely to do it.

“It’ll kill him,” Noct says, almost a whisper. He looks as if he might cry. For a second Gladio almost tells him to forget it, but ultimately that’s not gonna help anyone—indeed, he can almost hear his father chiding him, reminding him that going soft on Noct is what's gotten them into this mess in the first place. 

“Sure, he won’t like it, but it means he can adapt to being blind someplace safe, because that place sure as shit ain’t Gralea. Tell him we're gonna come straight back for him once we've found the crystal and you want him to be ready for then. Give him somethin' to motivate him.”

More hesitation. Noct looks as if he's weighing up whether to say something, then resigns himself to allowing the thought out into the world.

“D'you think he'll ever get his sight back? Even if it’s only a little?”

_Not a fuckin' chance_ , Gladio thinks, raging for the not the first time that he allowed Ignis to swear him to secrecy about how his injuries were acquired. Because letting Noct and Prompto believe that Ignis got hurt helping with the rescue efforts and not because of that goddamned fucking ring is absolving Noct from having to wear it himself. Carrying Iggy's guilty secret is like swallowing poison, corroding his insides as he does nothing to try and purge the toxins. Noct's looking at him though like a fucking puppy expecting a kick so he forces himself to shrug. If he cuts him some slack, he’s more likely to do as Gladio's asking and tell Ignis he’s staying behind. 

“I hope so. But the doctors said it would take time, so we've just gotta be patient.”

Noct nods, not convinced as such, but evidently relieved that someone else might want to believe in a miracle too.

“Even if he does though, it will still be totally different to what he had before so he still needs to recover and adapt somewhere safe,” Gladio cautions, tasting the bitterness of the lie but swallowing it down anyway. _He ain’t gettin' anything back because of that motherfucking ring_. “You know that's Cape Caem. He’ll never get the chance to regain any of his sight if we let him get killed in Gralea first and we haven’t got time to wait for him to recover first.”

He follows Noct's gaze down the platform. Prompto is still talking, his expression and body jarringly animated in stark contrast to the Ignis statue positioned in front of him. Gladio sees the longing in the prince's eyes. Noct wants Ignis back too. The Ignis with a dry remark—not cruel, simply observant. The one with a plan delivered with that same fierce intensity, whether it’s infiltrating an enemy base or deciding on what they’re having for dinner. At the moment Ignis is buried by the grief he’s stubbornly pretending not to feel. But if they can keep him safe, there’s a chance for his resurrection—a different phoenix emerging from the ashes, but one more like the old Ignis than the one they have right now. 

“I’ll talk to him,” Noct says morosely. “I’ll tell him it would be better if he went back to Caem.”

“And if he tries to convince you he’s okay to come?”

Noct closes his eyes for a moment, a long blink during which his mind is set. The words come out slowly, weighed down by their gravity. “Then I’ll order him to stay behind or I'll dismiss him from my service.”

OoOoO

Going into the mine is as bad as Gladio expects, but ultimately without the outcome he fears. When they’re out and safely back at the station it's difficult not to be swept up by the euphoria of locating another royal arm after surviving an attack by a fucking ginormous Marlboro—something they’d only ever seen in books before—but Gladio, as is often the case of late, designates himself resident party pooper before they leave the mine, which results in them getting into it again, stood calf-deep in shitty, stinky water. 

Blindness hasn’t removed Ignis's ability to deliver a stirring speech and Gladio stands, cursing every word as Ignis firmly states his intention to stay with them. He flicks a warning glance at Noct, who sensibly makes no promises in response to this impassioned plea. Prompto, on the other hand, gets indignant, insisting naively, in Gladio's view, that the decision should rest with Ignis and Ignis alone. If only it was that simple. Under other circumstances Ignis could do what the fuck he pleased with his death wish, but here and now, about to take the current king of Lucis into hostile territory, Ignis has no business telling them what _he_ wants. 

Once cleaned up and changed, the four of them retire to the dining car for a meal. The shit-stink of the mine feels almost impossible to clean off and every glance from a patron in the carriage increases the paranoia that the stench is still lingering on them. Wrongly Gladio assumes that eating as a foursome couldn’t feel any more awkward than the previous night's tense, bad-tempered camp at the mine's haven, but the way Noct and Prompto look at him says they’re still anxious that more fireworks could be imminent. It blackens Gladio's mood further, and he eats his terrible food in near-silence, all the while eyeing Ignis and trying to second-guess how he's feeling now he's had to put his much-reduced combat abilities to the test. 

At some point he needs to get Noct alone and remind him what they agreed. There’s been no discussion about when they’re leaving but now they have the royal arm there's nothing here worth staying for so obviously it'll be sooner rather than later. So Noct's chat needs to happen soon. No point giving Ignis false hope after all.

But they never really segue into anything that could pave the way for that talk and Gladio can’t quite bring himself to kill the fragile good mood anymore than he already has. Maybe it’s his own cowardice talking now, but he decides there’s no harm in leaving it until tomorrow.

Ignis can have tonight. 

OoOoO

Sleep doesn’t come easy that night and when it does, his dreams are hectic and confusing but the one thing he remembers is Ignis's face and the look of betrayal that haunts him long after he wakes. In his too small bunk in the sleeper car Gladio groans at the sight of daylight prying its fingers around the edges of the blind. Noct and Prompto are still asleep, the latter snoring softly, his arm dangling off the edge of the top bunk. Ignis is directly above him, so he listens for movement, trying to determine if he’s awake or not, knowing the answer is almost certainly yes. 

“Gladio?” Ignis's voice drifts down to greet him, barely audible. He’ll know the other two will be asleep and has probably been lying there listening for Gladio's breathing to change.

“I’m awake,” he replies unnecessarily. “You okay? Do you need the bathroom?”

The pause is a fraction of a second too long, allowing Gladio to register exactly how much Ignis hates having to ask. “If you’d be so kind. I’m sorry to pounce on you the minute you wake up.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Hang on a sec.”

He swings his legs out of bed, bare feet hitting the linoleum floor. Locating his boots, he pulls them on but leaves them unlaced, not caring how stupid they look teamed with the track pants and T-shirt he slept in. Ignis is similarly sleep-mussed as he rights himself, careful to not sit up straight because of the low ceiling over his head. He eases himself down from the top bunk, smiling as his hand finds Gladio's. 

They head down the narrow corridor, Gladio leading as Ignis's hand rests gently on the crook of his arm. The cramped facilities are vacant, confirmed when Gladio experimentally pushes on the door and it swings inward freely.

“I’ll wait out here. Just gimme a shout when you’re done.”

“Thank you.”

As he waits, Gladio turns his attention to the outside world. There aren’t many people around yet—not surprising when there's so little to get up for here and he finds himself watching two men loading boxes into a freight car, envying their laughter as they work. As serious and important as their roles are, he realises that they had that same levity, briefly, when they set off from Insomnia—he just didn’t realise it, or appreciate it, until it was far too late. 

When he turns his focus to the job the men are doing it sobers his thoughts. The men are preparing freight that will be moving soon. _They_ should be moving soon. Noct needs to speak to Ignis now so this situation doesn’t go on any longer. From the other side of the door he hears the toilet flushing. 

“Gladio? Are you still there?” 

“Yup,” he calls back. “I’m here.”

The sound of the lock being fumbled, then Ignis steps out. Gladio's heart constricts painfully at the prospect of being separated from this man before he reminds himself that it’s for the best. 

“Are you okay?” Ignis asks, like he can sense his quiet panic as they start to walk back to their car.

“Yeah. Just thinkin' about breakfast.”

“Mmm. I can only imagine what delights the dining car will have in store for us.”

Gladio snorts. “Ain’t that right.”

“Another reason for us to move on as soon as possible.”

“Yeah,” Gladio says, as the unsettled feeling in his stomach returns. 

OoOoO

In a repeat of events prior to going into the mine, Gladio manages to get Noct alone after they’ve finished eating. Truthfully he’s pissed that he’s having to even remind Noct about what he said he’d do. 

“ _Now_?” Noct says, eyes wide as Gladio grips his arm a fraction too tight to prevent him from following Ignis and Prompto out onto the platform.

“Yes, now,” he says through gritted teeth, even though the other two are out of earshot and chatting anyway. “Why, when were you thinking of doing it? When we arrive in Gralea or when he's lying there dying and you can tell him then you knew it was a bad idea all along?”

Noct tries to glare but he’s never really been very good at it and Gladio doesn’t give a fuck about his objections. Noct knows he’s right; he just doesn’t want to have to say it out loud. It’s clear he was hoping that Ignis would reach the decision on his own and his input wouldn’t be required.

“If you don’t do it and he dies in Gralea, it’s on you, you know that.”

It’s a low blow, but Gladio doesn’t give a fuck about that either. Noct’s gonna do the right thing or—

“ _Fine_ , I’ll talk to him. You happy?”

“Ecstatic.” 

Sarcasm aside, he actually is. Finally they’re gonna be able to push on without him worrying constantly about Ignis. He can concentrate on being Noct's shield, knowing Ignis is safe.

According to the timetable, the Altissia-bound train is due in just under an hour and that's the one they need to put Ignis on if they're going to make their own connection onto Niflheim, even though his heart wants to stay in this shitty podunk place for another day—another _year_ —if it means being able to stay with Ignis.

Noct almost pulls off the glare as he steps off the train and walks over to join the other two. Ignoring that final protest, Gladio watches as Noct says something to Ignis and Prompto before he and Ignis walk away together to the bench at the end of the platform. With no one to talk to Prompto turns and heads back to where Gladio is waiting.

“Noct wants to speak to Ignis,” Prompto announces unnecessarily. He’s wearing that wary expression, like he knows Gladio's had a hand in whatever it is that’s going on, but he just doesn’t know what exactly. 

“Mmm.” He doesn’t intend to say anything else, but Prompto's loitering, distracting him from keeping an eye on Noct and Ignis so he turns to the other man and says, “hey, since we're gonna be movin' on soon, why don’t you go and start gettin' packed up?”

Unsurprisingly Prompto doesn’t look convinced by the sudden urgency, especially given the fact that they’re all basically living out of their bags anyway, but he nods and moves past Gladio to return to the sleeper car. At least someone listens to him. 

With Prompto gone, he turns his attention back to Noct and Ignis sitting side by side on the bench. His view of Noct is obscured but it doesn’t matter; it’s Ignis he’s looking at. Still, he can see Noct is talking, his gestures dampened to match whatever he’s saying. Ignis's head is bowed, Gladio thinks he might see him nod once or twice. Then Ignis says something and Noct stands up. He looks reluctant to go, but then Ignis says something else and Noct starts walking. Gladio's heart thumps in his chest. It’s frustrating not knowing what’s been said even though it's unlikely he'll have to wait long since Noct is coming towards him.

“Where's Prompto?” Noct asks hoarsely. His eyes are wet and he only meets Gladio's gaze briefly before looking away. 

“Gone to pack up,” Gladio answers. He grabs Noct’s arm as he goes to step past, and is surprised when Noct shakes him free.

“You got what you wanted,” Noct hisses with uncharacteristic venom. “I know you think it's saving him, but right now? It feels like the opposite.”

Before Gladio can offer any kind of reply, Noct blows past him into the train car. A couple standing nearby suddenly launch into a forced conversation and Gladio fires them a hard stare as they try to pretend they weren’t listening. Down the platform Ignis appears to be on his phone. Who's he calling? Gladio resists going down there, given he’s no idea what kind of reception he'll get, but he keeps watching Ignis closely because the last thing he wants is for Ignis to wander onto the line. Eventually Ignis pockets his cellphone and stands, orienting himself with the bench and angling his cane so he’s ready to walk. The urge to go and help is almost too much, especially when Ignis seems to be veering left towards the tracks, but the cane highlights the change in surface and he corrects course before he strays too far. 

“I’m here, Iggy,” he announces when Ignis is about fifteen feet away. Ignis jerks slightly, hearing Gladio's voice. There’s nothing in his expression, but Gladio can tell he's furious. 

“Might I have a word with you? In private?”

He doesn’t bother to tell Ignis that the other two aren’t here anyway. “Sure.”

Stepping down onto the platform, Gladio moves to Ignis's right, his hand reaching for Ignis's to tuck it into the crook of his arm. For a second he thinks Ignis is about to refuse the assistance. Then, with obvious resignation, he allows Gladio to lead him away. It startles him to think how fragile Ignis has become in his mind. Thank fuck he’s gonna go back to Lucis. 

He walks them a little way up the platform to give them some privacy. There still aren’t many people here, but this probably isn’t a conversation that they want to be having with any onlookers. 

“So it appears I’m returning to Altissia,” Ignis says suddenly, once Gladio has guided them both to sit on the low wall behind the carriages. “Noct insisted he wanted me to go.”

“He wants to keep you safe; we all do.”

Ignis doesn’t reply for a minute. His hands are clasped on his knees and with his eyes closed he looks as if he’s praying. Then he nods and lifts his head. 

“He said if I didn’t agree to go then he would dismiss me from his service.”

Gladio inhales, genuinely surprised that Noct actually found the balls to say it. Ignis appears to interpret it as an attempt to sound shocked. A smile comes to his lips, which Gladio likens to a razor. Ignis is not one for explosions, but he’s no less deadly when he’s angry. 

“I would never presume to know anyone, but I’m fairly confident when I say those are not Noct's words.” Ignis pauses for a moment, letting that statement sit uncomfortably between them. “I called Cid. It appears he never set off for Lucis like he intended; almost as if someone asked him to wait a little longer.”

Gladio sighs wearily, not willing to endure this death by a thousand cuts. “Yeah I asked him to wait. I’ve never made a secret of the fact that I didn’t want you to come.”

“What about what _I_ wanted?”

“Goddamit, Iggy,” he says, massaging his closed eyes for a moment. “Our entire fuckin' lives have been about not getting what _we_ want. Why'd you think you should suddenly get a say?”

“Because I still have a role to play!” Ignis says angrily. His face is pale, making his scars look even more livid. “I know things are more difficult now, but we both know I brought more to my role than the ability to _see_.”

This is horrible. They’re going to be going their separate ways in about half an hour and Gladio can’t let them part like this. His anger bleeds out of him, bitterly aware of the indelible stain it leaves on them both. 

“You’ve done more for Noct than he'll ever know,” he says quietly, the weight in his chest crushing and painful. “And you’ve every right to be angry with me for forcing his hand. But I’ll never regret wanting to protect you, Iggy. I love you.”

“Did you tell Noct that?”

Gladio's head jerks up. “What?”

“Did you tell Noct that?” Ignis repeats, the words said so precisely that that it’s like they’re five separate utterances. “Did you tell Noct that the reason you convinced him not to let me carry on with my duties was because you love me and you want to keep me safe?”

It’s difficult to know if it’s a genuine question or just anger talking. Ignis is rarely resentful and almost never spiteful. But all bets are off when he's in pain. Better not to answer at all.

“D'you want me to tell him?”

Ignis contemplates the question, then shrugs. “At least he wouldn’t be under any illusions about your motivations.”

Thing is, there’s no real reason why their relationship should remain hidden, not anymore. Not now Insomnia is gone, taking with it Clarus Amicitia and his bloody-minded adherence to tradition. If there's no royal council to disapprove and no parent to disappoint then why are they still keeping up appearances? And yet what would it change with regards to this situation. He decides to put that point to Ignis.

“Say Noct does know? You're still injured. Of course he's worried about how he'll manage without you, but he doesn’t want you putting yourself in danger any more than I do. Knowing about us won’t change that.”

Eventually Ignis nods in grudging agreement, presumably after thinking through the ramifications of burdening their prince with yet more unexpected information. He’s quiet for a moment and then he says, “I don’t know what I’ll do.” His voice is small and unsure, almost lost beneath the sounds of the station. The vice around Gladio's chest tightens. 

“Hey,” Gladio says, reaching for Ignis's hand and squeezing it gently. “This ain’t the end and you know it. You’re still meant for great things, Iggy—Noct still needs you, especially when he takes the throne. But you'll be more help to him alive.”

“I hope so.”

At the sound of approaching footsteps, they instinctively straighten up. Gladio lets go of Ignis's hand at the same time Ignis pulls it free. Then suddenly Noct and Prompto are here too, shouldering all their bags and wearing twin unhappy expressions. 

“We've got everything unless you want to go back and check,” Noct says, studying Gladio for a moment before turning pained eyes on Ignis.

Sensing he’s being deferred to, Ignis offers a tight smile. “Ordinarily I’d prefer to check your handiwork but I believe it might be a little beyond my capabilities at present.”

The joke falls flat. Instead Noct looks between them all, his expression anxious.

“So what happens next?”

“Well, I believe this is where we must part, ” Ignis says, sounding like he’s talking about nothing more critical than what they have for dinner. “My train will be arriving shortly and in a fortuitous turn of events, it seems Cid hasn’t yet set sail so I can rendezvous with him in Altissia and head back to Lucis.”

Gladio glances at the other two. Prompto doesn’t look surprised so Noct's obviously filled him in, presumably making him now Public Enemy Number One with all of his travel companions. 

“Where will you go?” Prompto asks, and, for fuck's sake, he sounds like he’s on the verge of crying. 

“Cape Caem. Cid would be docking there anyway and I believe Monica has remained at the house so I’ll be able to offer my services to her whilst I learn to adapt to my new situation.”

Unexpectedly Gladio realises there’s a lump in his throat at Ignis's admission that this is likely to be his life now. It ain’t Noct's fault, but all at once Gladio hates him for simply existing and having a gravity that has dragged all of them in. In reality he wants to get on that boat with Ignis. Find a place somewhere and fulfil that fantasy he has where he can fish and commune with nature whilst Ignis tends to a garden, enjoying the scents from the flowers that carry on the breeze. Maybe they can keep some animals. It would be a simple life, far from what they’d known in Insomnia, but it would be _theirs_.

“Are you sure, Ignis?” Prompto asks, breaking the spell.

That same tight smile and nod. “Of course I don’t want to leave you all, but visiting the mine has highlighted my limitations.”

“But you kicked that Marlboro's ass!”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Prompto,” Ignis says, oblivious to the murderous gaze Gladio is shooting Prompto's way. “But I’m not naive enough to think there wasn’t a sizeable helping of luck involved in our escapades. Gralea will truly be hostile territory and we can’t afford for the three of you to lose focus because you’re worrying about me. Frankly I would never forgive myself if anything happened.”

“So you’re just gonna stay at Caem?” Noct asks, and thank fuck Ignis can’t see how distraught he looks because he'd almost certainly change his mind. “We're coming straight back for you, you hear? The _second_ we're done in Gralea, we're coming to get you.”

Evidently Ignis can hear it because he offers a pleased smile in the direction of Noct's voice. 

“I’ll hold you to that, your majesty.”

Noct's openly crying now and in truth Gladio doesn’t feel that far off himself. In the distance there's the sound of an approaching train. All at once he wants to tell Ignis that he's made a mistake; that he can come to Gralea and they’ll deal with whatever arises. That they’re better together. But reality returns with that cold slap to the face. He's Noct's shield and he needs to be able to do that job to the best of his abilities. And that means keeping Ignis far from the battlefield. _Even if he ends up hating you?_ his mind asks as they all set off in the direction of the platform. _Even if_ , he replies angrily to the thought. _Even if._

The farewell is unbearably formal. He wants to drag Ignis into his arms, alternating kisses with promises to return both safely and soon. He wants to tell Ignis he’s sorry, that it’s for the best even though he doesn’t want to believe it. And for all Ignis is saying he's okay with going back, it’s clear that he’s not. His anger has always been much more muted than Gladio's, but it's there for those willing to look. And Gladio looks even though it hurts to do so. It’s in the tightness of his smile and the way he holds himself so stiffly. And then, as his parting shot, it’s in the way he hugs first Noct and then Prompto, then holds a hand out to Gladio. 

“Take care, Iggy,” Gladio says, his voice rough. The handshake is brisk, impersonal.

“You too.” 

The train arrives. Bidding them a final farewell, Ignis chooses to get on board as soon as the carriages are ready. A guard assists him, showing him to a seat and putting his bag in the overhead rack. Through the window Gladio studies him, head bowed, and wonders what’s going through his mind. The doors close and the guard on the platform blows his whistle. Too late for any changes of heart. 

As the train disappears into the distance, Noct rounds on him, eyes still bright although the tears have long since been swiped away.

“Don’t let me regret this, Gladio.”

He doesn’t look at Noct until the train is out of sight. When he does, he schools his expression into something hard and emotionless because sending Ignis away will have been for nothing if they don’t all get a grip. He ignores Noct's last comment. 

“Right.” He says it so sharply they both straighten up, like it’s an order from the marshal himself. Maybe they’ll actually start listening now the distraction of worrying about Ignis has been removed. “Let’s go wait for our train.”


	3. Chapter 2

Their connection onto Gralea arrives an hour after they’ve seen Ignis off. Noct is still hell-bent on stopping in Tenebrae and Gladio realises he’s given up his objection to the trip. _Pick your battles,_ Ignis has always counselled, especially when it came to Noct so for once he’s gonna take that advice. He got his way with Ignis so Noct can have Tenebrae.

Then shit seriously goes down. The train comes under attack and although they manage to repel the magitek infantry, they end up in different parts of the train which screams against Gladio's every instinct because how can he shield Noct when he can’t even see him? 

But worse is to come. As he yanks his sword free of a twitching, sparking robot soldier his phone starts ringing in his pocket. He snatches it up, heart leaping at the caller ID.

“Noct! What’s goin' on?”

The signal's terrible but he makes out Noct screaming something about Prompto.

“Prompto’s what?” he yells covering his other ear. 

“Prompto's fallen off the train!” Noct cries. “I-I pushed him; Ardyn made me push him! We've got to go back!”

“No!” Gladio pulls the phone away from his ear, trying to think. If Ardyn's behind this then surely there’s a reason. “We can’t! It’ll be a trap! Just get back inside and we'll work out what to do next.”

Noct, thank fuck, does as he's told, but when he bursts into the carriage his eyes are wild, shooting daggers towards Gladio, as if it’s his fault that Prompto is no longer with them. Gladio bites down on his temper because yelling at Noct isn’t gonna get them anywhere, even though there’s a part of him that wants to ask Noct if this would have happened if he'd just put on the goddamned ring. But his better self takes over. He consoles and reassures, and Noct's anger burns away to exhaustion. They check on the other passengers and when they’re done, they find a quiet corner and collapse into the seats.

_Man of no consequence, my ass_ , Gladio thinks as he tries to process the events of the last few hours and finds his brain is refusing to make sense of any of it. Ignis had explained Ardyn's role in what had transpired in Altissia so Gladio thought they were ready for him, but seriously, how do you deal with someone who can shape shift and turn himself into an exact facsimile of someone you know?

And Gladio will forever feel guilty for thinking _thank fuck it was Prompto and not Noct_ , but it doesn’t change the fact that they're now increasingly fucked. In a dead monotone, Noct recounts how Ardyn had simply disappeared into thin air, but not before firing a few parting shots about being sorry to see that the 'handsome chap in the glasses' is no longer with them and then laughing that maybe handsome is no longer the correct word and talking about 'seeing' is almost certainly in poor taste. And of course Ardyn would get away, because all evil assholes do.

Reliving the encounter rekindles a rage so toxic it threatens to burn through Gladio's insides like battery acid. With no target to direct it at, the red mist eventually clears, leaving him with one completely distraught Noct, and one very big fucking problem since locating Prompto has now been added to their To-Do list. The longing to call Ignis, to have the burden shared or just to have validation that their course of action is the right one is almost overwhelming, but how can he call? Even if Ignis holds off on the _I told you so_ , he'll be putting unimaginable stress on a man already close to his limit, knowing he’s so far away and unable to be any help.

They manage to snatch some sleep, just a couple of hours fuelled by exhaustion, but it’s better than nothing. Gladio wakes from a fitful dream of Ignis falling overboard from the royal vessel, disappearing beneath the waves, hand outstretched, mouth in a muted 'o' as Gladio can only watch in horror. Across from him Noct is still sleeping, although his pinched expression indicates his dreams are equally troubled. When he wakes, it's with a sharp inhale, his bright blue eyes fixing on Gladio for a moment before they slide to the empty seat beside him. It’s possible to see the exact moment he remembers that neither Ignis nor Prompto are here, his features rearranging themselves to reflect his pain.

“What time is it?” Noct asks eventually, his voice still thick with sleep.

Gladio checks his watch. “Just after six.”

“In the morning?”

“In the morning.” He does a quick mental calculation. “We should be in Tenebrae about nine.”

Noct nods but doesn’t say anything. Maybe Tenebrae seems less appealing now Prompto's gone. But given it’s the last friendly—or at least neutral stop—before reaching Niflheim they could do with checking and replenishing their supplies. 

“D'you wanna get something to eat?” he asks Noct, whose own gaze is fixed on the darkened skyline outside.

“Not really hungry.”

_Ignis, you’re up_ , Gladio thinks because riding Noct's ass about taking care of himself is definitely his department. Then he remembers that all departments are now solely his and he experiences an unfamiliar stab of panic. 

“You should really try and eat something though.”

Noct glares like he also resents the fact that it’s Gladio having to say those words and not Ignis, but he grudgingly accepts the cereal bar that Gladio tosses at him across the gap. For the next few minutes they both eat in silence. Outside the world rushes past, the plains having long given way to the mountainous region where Tenebrae can be found. Belatedly it occurs to him how dark it still is. The sun should have risen almost an hour ago, confirming that longer nights aren’t a figments of people's imaginations. 

It's still semi-dark when the train pulls into the station at Tenebrae. There aren’t many passengers and there's a shell-shocked air about them as they disembark. Some of them are bloodied and wounded, injured by flying debris as they'd sheltered from Ardyn's attack. A child is crying despite attempts to console him. Gladio and Noct step out onto the platform, but before they can get their bearings a familiar figure is striding towards them. With an internal groan— _what now?_ —Gladio instinctively positions himself in front of Noct even though Aranea wasn't actively trying to kill them the last time they crossed paths.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she says in that drawl that always makes it sound like she’s found something amusing. “No offence, guys, but you look like shit.”

Noct snorts. “And that’s everything to do with you and your buddies from the empire. You could have killed innocent people on that train.”

“Nothing to do with me,” Aranea says spreading her hands. “Let’s just say the empire and I agreed to disagree on a few matters.”

“Which matters?” Gladio asks.

“All of them.”

The eye roll is like a reflex as he folds his arms across his chest and shoots her a look of disbelief. “So you’re tellin' me mercenaries got standards now, huh?”

“Believe it or not but we do. Sure, we've got our eyes on payday, but there are limits and where the empire's concerned we're no longer talking about a difference of ideologies with Lucis. They've got a plan, and even the little I’ve been privy to tells me it doesn’t bode well for any of us. My crew and I won’t have any part in it.”

After a quick glance at Gladio, Noct nods. To be fair she _seems_ sincere and there were reports whilst they were still in Altissia about Aranea's ship remaining behind long after the empire had retreated in order to help with the relief efforts. She's still a fucking pain in the ass though.

“Well if you wanna help, you can get all these people out of here,” Noct says, gesturing to the huddled groups sprawled across the platform. “They need protection and safe passage.”

Aranea follows Noct's gaze, nodding before she replies. “That we can do. But what about you?”

“We're carrying onto Gralea,” Noct says stiffly.

“Uh huh. Can you drive the train?”

Noct flicks widening eyes back at Gladio. Like always, if there’s something he doesn’t know or can’t do, he defers to either Gladio or Ignis. Fortunately there’s no need to inform Noct that Crownsguard training doesn’t involve learning how to operate locomotives, because Aranea has answered first.

“Didn’t think so. Fortunately for you, I know a couple of people who do. Come on.”

She walks away without looking back, so confident that they’ll follow. It irks Gladio, but what choice have they got? Noct shrugs, but he sets off too with Gladio falling in half a step behind.

“So where are the other two?” Aranea asks, eventually looking back over her shoulder when neither of them answer straight away. The trauma is apparent on Noct's face because she quickly adds, “Are they dead?”

“No... I, I don’t know.”

“The attack earlier,” Gladio interjects. “Prompto was knocked from the train.”

“Ouch,” Aranea winces. “And what about Four Eyes? Where's he?”

“Not here,” Gladio snaps, earning him startled looks from both Aranea and Noct. Aranea recovers quicker, flashing him a smile as she shrugs.

“Shame. He’s hot. That accent does all kinda funny things to a girl.”

Fortunately she turns around and starts walking again so she doesn’t see how hard Gladio clenches his jaw or how his hands curl into fists as he trails after her. 

OoOoO

Aranea introduces them to 'her crew' as she calls them. Biggs and Wedge are loud and jovial but ultimately it’s not hard to see that they’re decent guys and Gladio finds himself relaxing knowing that they’re going to drive the train onto Gralea. They decide to set off straight away once Aranea has taken charge of the passengers and Biggs and Wedge have made any necessary preparations. No point giving the empire more time to mobilise and the sooner they can get back to Lucis and he can get back to Ignis, the better.

While Noct is talking with some of the staff from Fenestala Manor, Gladio excuses himself. He pulls out his cellphone, waking the screen and scrolling to his address book. Of course he sees Ignis's name and for a second he almost calls. His thumb hovers over the button. Ignis will be in Altissia now, or maybe they’ve already set sail for Cape Caem. No point calling in that case. He goes to a different contact instead and hits call. It rings four, five times and then is answered in a breathless rush.

“Gladdy!” Iris exclaims. “Are you okay?”

“Whoah, yeah I’m okay kiddo.” He smiles, despite himself. Iris is, and always has been, like sunshine in his eyes. She sees silver linings even in the bleakest of situations and it fascinates and infuriates him in turns. He realises part of it is jealousy since he’s never been able to see things the way she does yet somehow he doesn’t begrudge her that disposition. He’s always told himself that it’s the fault of his responsibility. Being firstborn. Being male. Being an Amicitia. But deep down he knows it’s just in their differing makeup. Iris inherited their mother's joie de vivre; he got their father's humourless cynicism. 

“How you doin'? I thought you weren’t gonna answer.”

“I was outside working,” she chastises. He can imagine the pout. “I had to run inside for my phone. I’d given up keeping it on me since you never bother to call.”

“Yeah, sorry kiddo.” He rubs a hand across his face, questioning the wisdom of trying to have this conversation now when his head and his heart aren’t in it. Then he remembers they’re about to re-board the train and head directly into enemy territory so there's not likely to be a better time. 

“Things have been a little crazy here.”

“I'd heard,” Iris replies solemnly. “Oh Gladdy, I wish you’d come back to Lucis.”

“I know. We’ll be back soon. There’s just some stuff we gotta do first.”

“Where?”

He wants to lie. The answer sticks in his throat for a second before he says it. “Gralea.”

“Niflheim?” she cries, “Gladio, you can’t!”

“I have to. We've gotta try and get the crystal outta there, otherwise things are gonna get a whole lot worse.”

The signal's not great, but unfortunately not bad enough to disguise the tears in her voice. 

“There's no other way?”

“No.” His eyes stray to Noct who's nodding soberly at something the older woman is saying. It'll be okay. It’ll fucking have to be. “Anyway, who's better to deal with shit situations than the shield of the king?”

“Yeah, okay,” she says, trying to match his levity. “How are the others doing?”

Awesome. He extricates himself from one difficult conversation only to crash headlong into another. 

“Noct's okay,” he says, figuring that he'll start with the truth, before lying becomes essential.

“I’m not just asking about Noct,” she replies sounding annoyed. He can picture her now, scowling into the phone as high spots of colour appearing on her cheeks. “What about Prompto?”

“Also okay,” he says quickly, hating himself for being a lying fucker. He wonders for a second if Iris knows he’s lying because she doesn’t reply immediately, but then the reason for her hesitancy becomes obvious.

“And Ignis?” she says softly. 

“Yeah, well that’s one of the reasons I wanted to speak to you. I’ve got a favour to ask.”

Iris knows about Altissia, about Ignis. It was Iris he broke down to in the early days of Ignis's injuries, when Luna was dead, Noct was still unconscious and Ignis had paid too heavy a price on the battlefield. She doesn’t know _everything_ , everything, even though in that moment of weakness he came really close to confessing it all. She just assumed he was worried about Noct and upset for a friend and colleague whom he’d worked alongside his entire life.

“He’s coming back to Lucis,” he continues, “And I need you to help take care of him.”

The silence feels heavy with an assortment of questions Iris surely wants to ask. 

“Of-of course,” she says eventually, “you know I will.”

“Good. He’s gonna need support—practical and emotional. It’s a lot to ask, but I know he’s in good hands with you, sis.”

“Is Ignis okay with letting you guys go on without him?” she asks doubtfully. 

There’s little point lying. He pictures Ignis's face at Cartanica, his expression little more than a grimace caught between sorrow and anger, stubbornly determined to the last not to show his emotions. “I’m not saying he agrees with the decision, but it’s the right one.” 

He wonders if she realises he’s trying to convince himself at the same time. Belatedly he becomes aware of Noct now standing watching him, having concluded his own business. 

“Look Iris, I’ve gotta run. Just promise me you’ll look after yourself and Iggy when he gets back.”

“I promise,” she replies solemnly. “D'you want me to give Ignis a message when he gets here?”

The words form instantly— _tell him I love him; always have, always will_ —but they die at conception, never to take even a single breath even though he's going somewhere dangerous and might not make it back to say them himself. Now who's being stubborn. Old habits die fucking hard apparently. 

“Tell him... tell him to take care.”

“You too, Gladdy.”

He ends the call before he has to acknowledge the waver in her voice. Feeling like an asshole, he pockets his phone and walks back over to Noct who's standing with his hands dug into his pockets, bright blue eyes fixing Gladio warily.

“Everything okay?” he asks when Gladio's close enough.

“Yeah.” 

Noct looks as if he’s about to ask a question but a whistle draws their collective attention back to the station. Aranea—standing flanked by Biggs and Wedge—is waving them over.

“Guess that’s our cue to get goin'” Gladio says, dropping a hand onto Noct's shoulder signalling the end of the conversation they weren’t going to have anyway. 

OoOoO

As the train pulls out of the station and Tenebrae retreats into the distance, Gladio considers how little he noticed about the place while they were there. He knows about Tenebrae, but only through stories and photos. As a kid he'd been fascinated by the thought of the mountains of Zoldara Henge, where the castles appeared to float and bridges connected them like the tethers holding down an airship. When he got a little older, the territory took on new significance. Ignis was born here. His sharp, Tenebraen accent had sounded funny at first but much like Aranea, he’d been drawn to it, bewitched by how it made the most ordinary things sound appealing.

The pain in his chest returns as he thinks of Ignis. Unconsciously his hand goes to the phone in his pocket. To call, to text. Just _some_ connection, to hear his voice. Then Noct is talking to him, something about finding Prompto or the crystal or both, but he’s too caught up thinking about Ignis to really take in what he’s saying. And then—

Everything that happens next is a blur.

It starts with a crash, breaking glass and splintering wood a few carriages down from where they’re sitting. Noct's on his feet as fast as Gladio and their eyes meet in synchronised horror as they both realise that the weapons they’ve reflexively tried to summon haven’t materialised.

“What the...?”

Noct looks at him, panicked. Fuck, Gladio knows how he feels, but he schools his expression into something opaque in an attempt to stop things further spiralling out of control. Ignis would be fucking proud.

“Come on!” he yells over the sound of more breaking glass. “We need to move!”

They’ve both got actual blades on them, but they’re little more than something Ignis could de-bone one of Noct's catches with and Gladio knows when they should cut their losses. So they run. Hoard after hoard of daemons smash through the windows to attack them and—why not— Ardyn's mellifluous voice mocks them although fuck knows where it’s coming from because they never actually get eyes on the bastard himself. 

The next thing either of them know, Noct's climbing into the Regalia and Gladio's throwing open the last freight car's doors. This plan that neither of them have discussed yet simultaneously seem to be working towards is insane, but once they’re in the car and the engine's started, there’s little point in turning back. They need to get to Gralea, and a car's a lot more manoeuvrable than a train when people are shooting at you. 

So now they’re driving the last leg of the journey with the empire trying repeatedly to run them off the tracks. Across the city, sirens blare whilst a monotone voice on loudspeakers repeats the warning that the city gates are about to be closed. Once that happens getting in won’t be impossible, but it'll almost certainly be a damn sight harder. It’s fucking nuts, yet through every second of it Gladio finds his mind repeating the same mantra: _thank fuck Ignis isn’t here_. 

The part of his brain that isn’t thinking about Ignis and isn’t focused on looking out for incoming missiles is acknowledging that Gralea looks as depressing as he’d always imagined it to be. The scenery flying by outside looks cold and unwelcoming, an industrial hellscape with nothing to soften that aesthetic. Close, too close, something detonates next to the tracks, briefly lighting up the night sky. 

A quick glance at Noct reveals a level of focus he rarely sees on his charge. His knuckles are white, fingers gripping the wheel as he steers the Regalia onward and despite everything going on, Gladio can’t help but be impressed. The thought is shook loose as they take another hit and the back end of the car fishtails dangerously for a moment. Gladio braces himself for a crash, but it doesn’t happen, Noct regaining control before they get intimately acquainted with the barrier running alongside the tracks. Gladio blows out the breath he was holding, before gulping in a fresh one as a blockade comes into view and Noct only just steers his way around it at the last second.

“Come on,” he says, bracing himself against the door as Noct manages to right the car once again. “We're almost there.”

“Believe me, I know,” Noct replies, the words escaping from between gritted teeth barely a second before he jerks the wheel right to avoid some barrels which Gladio is pretty sure had _Caution: Explosives_ symbols on them. He pictures Ignis sitting in the back and tries to imagine how horrifying this would be without sight. 

Then, thank fuck, the gates are in sight. The last announcement Gladio heard was a three minute warning of their closure, so it’s cutting it pretty fine and they both simultaneously breathe a sigh of relief once they’re through. Evidently the Regalia understands the significance of the landmark as it's at that moment she decides that she’s done enough, and with a thud and a bang she slows, eventually grinding to a stop, a spume of black smoke belching from her exhaust.

They look at each other, seeming both to draw in a breath at the same time. 

“Guess that's that,” Noct says, his eyes wide and Gladio almost laughs at the understatement. 

“Yeah.” Still on high alert, he scans the outside for danger as best he can through the smoke. “Come on. We need to get outta here.”

Despite the damage to the car, both doors still open, although Noct's makes a horrible screeching sound and he doesn’t attempt to close it behind him. There’s no point. It doesn’t take a mechanic to see that the car is the latest casualty of this war and somehow, this hurts as much as losing flesh and blood people. He glances at Noct and sees a similar grief reflected in his face.

“She did us proud.”

Noct nods and reaches out to touch the car's dented wing one last time. Gladio's about to put a supportive hand on his shoulder, but then Noct turns and his expression is so hardened Gladio's hand freezes in midair. In his hand he's holding the Ring of the Lucii. Noct slips it onto his finger and flexes his hand, almost as if admiring it. The muscles jump in his jaw, telling Gladio that something internal is happening as the ring's power awakens. Then it’s over, and Noct looks straight at him. 

“Come on,” Noct says solemnly. “Let's not keep these bastards waiting any longer.”

Their gazes swing to the towering monolith in the distance. 

Zegnautus awaits them. 


	4. Chapter 3

What happens inside the keep is a blur. Ardyn toys with them the whole time, making comments over the tannoys as wave after wave of magitek troopers come at them. Proving the fucker's got a sick sense of humour, they can once again summon their weapons from the armiger, but it's no picnic getting through floor after floor of the stark military complex. They've witnessed and contributed to the deaths of Ravus Nox Fleuret and the emperor himself, although both had undergone hideous transformations by the time he and Noct found them and Gladio can’t help but think they’ve done them a kindness. Conversation between him and Noct is minimal now. They’re both exhausted and Gladio's long since run out of motivational platitudes.

The one bright spot in this whole shitshow is finding Prompto alive and, reasonably unharmed, although there’s a wildness in his eyes that Gladio knows will come spilling out at some point. Then things go spectacularly south. As their de facto strategist he makes the decision to send Noct to find the crystal. To be fair, they don’t have a lot of options by that point, with the numbers of daemons and troopers coming at them. Better Noct reaches the crystal before they end up overwhelmed. So the last he sees of Noct, it’s as a white-blue flash as he's warping out of the room. _Astrals, let it be the right decision_ , he thinks as he brings his sword down with a grunt and cleaves another shrieking daemon in two. 

Somehow, eventually, he and Prompto are the last men standing, which fills him with a manic kind of glee, because frankly the odds weren’t good. The feeling is short lived though; Ardyn gets the last laugh when he and Prompto finally stumble through into the crystal chamber to find the chancellor and the crystal... but no Noct. Gladio's heart is residing somewhere in his mouth at this point—all he can see is him having to tell Ignis that he got Noct killed—when Ardyn sets them straight: Noct isn’t dead, he’s _inside_ the crystal. 

Then Ardyn flashes them that lazy smile, confirming this has been his end game all along. With the blood rushing in his ears Gladio readies himself to fight—to the death most likely—but the chancellor simply waltzes away down the gantry, leaving him and Prompto and a massive fucking crystal containing the one person they were supposed to protect, whilst sirens and alarms raise hell all around them. 

“We can't leave him,” Prompto cries, his eyes wild and desperate once Ardyn has gone.

“We have to!” Gladio roars back. “He'll be safe in the crystal but we can’t move it now and we can’t stay here.”

Prompto looks torn but he knows Gladio's right. They both cast the crystal one last glance and start toward the exit. 

OoOoO

Turns out, getting out is easier than getting in. By now the empire is in chaos—fuck knows what the emperor did before he transformed into that fucking terrible thing they found in the throne room—but the MTs appear to be seriously malfunctioning, turning on each other and leaving Gladio and Prompto very little to do aside from get their asses out of there. 

They do so in near silence, blades and bullets cutting a path out of the keep. A few times Gladio considers asking Prompto if he’s really okay but he knows the answer will almost certainly be a lie and he needs the other man focused and shooting straight if they’re gonna have a chance of surviving. 

Gralea's main gates are still closed as they near the city limits. Sirens blare, making it almost impossible to think straight as they hurry through the streets, hiding and fighting until they’re both running on fumes. Doubt creeps in. Every bit of Gladio hurts and he’s almost overwhelmed by the desire to sit down and let fate take its course, whatever that might be. It shocks him, because he _never_ feels this way. He knows why though. Ordinarily Ignis would be here, pushing him on in the same way that he would do for Ignis. He tries to channel Iggy's wisdom, but finds it impossible, like Gralea has stolen whatever positivity he can muster, even inside his own head.

“Gladio? You okay?”

He realises Prompto is looking at him, his gaze uncharacteristically assessing. Prompto, one hundred and twenty pounds soaked through, whose body shows probably only a fraction of whatever the fuck has happened to him inside Zegnautus, is asking Gladio if he's okay. _Fucking get it together Amicitia_ , he thinks to himself.

“Yeah,” he replies, knowing it sounds short. “Don’t lose focus.”

“You got it.”

They manage to get on top of the wall, which gives them an opportunity to survey the chaos from a better vantage point. Plumes of smoke rise, dotted across the city while Zegnautus stand silently in the centre, like a disappointed teacher surveying their unruly students. And at its heart, Noct is still there, trapped inside the crystal. Gladio prays he’s right in his assumption that the empire won’t risk damaging their precious crystal, even though their enemy is now inside it. Then again, the empire only seems to consist of that mad fucker Ardyn Izunia now so who's to say what he'll try to do. But if he and Prompto die here, who will know to come and get the crystal anyway?

“We can get down here,” Prompto says, startling Gladio from his thoughts. His heart lurches at the sight of Prompto leaning precariously over the wall until he realises that he's holding a rope that’s been secured into the ironwork at their feet. He steps over and tugs it experimentally. It holds.

“You wanna go first?” Prompto asks. 

Gladio weighs it up and nods. They’ve not seen a soul, either human or MT up here so better he goes down first and lets Prompto stay where it's safer. 

“I’ll yank on the rope when I’m down and you can start climbing,” he says. 

“Roger that, Big Guy.”

Almost as soon as he's responsible for his own weight, Gladio realises the climb is gonna be a lot tougher than he thought. His muscles scream in protest and for a second he thinks they’re gonna rebel and make him let go and he’s gonna fall fifty or sixty feet to his death. Teeth gritted, he goes down slowly. It'll be just his fucking luck if there's something down here waiting for him. But fortune decides to give him a break—his feet hit the gravel and he almost falls to his knees in relief. Remembering what he’s supposed to be doing, he yanks hard on the rope and then summons his great sword to protect them both while he waits for Prompto to join him. 

It feels like an age before Prompto's feet appear through the gloom. He drops the last few feet, although Gladio's not sure if that’s by accident or design. He shakes out his arms and lets out a shocky gasp. Despite this, he summons his guns almost instantly, which Gladio totally respects. But the madness seems to be well contained within the capital's walls, giving him nothing to shoot at so it makes sense to get the fuck out of here before anything changes. Gladio returns his great sword to the armiger, only then comprehending the fact that their link to Noct's magic still works. Prompto does the same, then his eyes rise to Gladio's face, shock bleeding into the edges of his expression. 

“What now?” 

Gladio looks around before he answers. The darkness makes it impossible to see any real distance but here beyond the city walls the landscape looks pretty desolate.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got your cellphone? Mine's fucked.”

“Gone. They took everything off me when...”

Gladio nods, saving Prompto from having to give any further explanation. “We need to find a vehicle,” he says, still scanning the horizon. “Then follow the tracks back to Tenebrae. There we can figure out what to do next. Maybe Aranea can help us.”

“Aranea?” Prompto queries.

“Yeah.” He realises Prompto's not aware how she helped him and Noct get here, and how they left the unfortunate train passengers in her care. “She’s apparently one of the good guys now.”

Prompto's eyebrows shoot up. There's blood caked down the side of his face and he's still got that slightly wild look in his eyes, despite his attempt to project his okayness.

“Cool,” he replies, then grins suddenly. “What I wouldn’t do for that airship right about now.”

_You and me, both_ , Gladio thinks. 

“Soon as we’ve got some distance away from this place, we can try and contact her.”

Prompto opens his mouth to say something, but the response is cut off abruptly by an explosion from inside the walls that disturbs the air around them. They both instinctively duck, eyes turning to the sky even though there's nothing to see.

“Think that’s our cue to go,” Gladio says, making a mental decision about the direction they're going to head in. “Come on.”

Together they set off at a jog. The ground is hard packed earth with no discernible vegetation so they can move at a reasonable speed, although they’re constantly surveying the area for signs of a threat from monsters and MTs alike. The light Gladio thought he’d seen in the distance thankfully turns out to be some buildings—it's too small to be a town but there are several buildings and where there are people, there are hopefully cars or trucks. Fuck, he'd even settle for a _skateboard_ at this point.

They need to be careful though. The last thing they need is to survive Zegnautus Keep and die at the hands of a pissed off homeowner when they’re trying to liberate him of his car.

“Shame we've not got the Regalia here,” Prompto says a little breathlessly. Gladio had almost forgotten he was there and he’d definitely forgotten that Prompto doesn’t know about the old girl's fate. 

“Yeah. She did us proud.”

Before Prompto can ask an obvious follow up question, Gladio throws out his hand, catching Prompto across the chest and bringing them both to an abrupt stop. 

“Okay,” he says under his breath. “Eyes everywhere. We need to stay hidden and find ourselves somethin' we can get out of here in or on—car, truck, bike, anything with wheels that'll get us away from here fast.”

“What about chocobos?” Prompto asks. 

Before Gladio can roll his eyes, Prompto points out into the darkness to their left. “I can smell them,” he explains somewhat sheepishly. “Surely they'd be better than nothing?”

True. They could cover ground a lot quicker on chocobos if there are no vehicles to take. Then again, chocobos are notoriously strong-willed animals and Gladio doesn’t relish the idea of trying to escape hostile territory on a bird that refuses to do as it’s told.

“As a last resort,” he says in answer. “We'll work our way around the perimeter and if we've not found a car or somethin' then we'll go for the birds.”

Prompto nods, his mouth drawn into a thin line. He summons his handguns and settles them in his grip. 

“Be careful,” Gladio adds, summoning a smaller blade to hand, eyes darting everywhere checking there's no one around to observe the cold blue light that accompanies the magic. “See you soon.”

He watches Prompto move away in a crouching stance, his booted feet almost silent in the coarse grass. When he's swallowed by the darkness, Gladio sets off himself in the opposite direction, skirting the perimeter of a large tumble-down barn. The doors are on the other side, but he doesn’t want to risk getting too close to any of the inhabited buildings if he can help it. Fortunately, given the poor state of repair, he's able to find a missing panel, allowing him to see inside. 

It takes a while for his eyes to make sense of the darkened shapes, all while he wills his heart to stop being so fucking loud and let him concentrate. Depressingly, his suspicions are correct and his eyes eventually adjust to confirm that he’s looking at a tractor—not exactly an ideal getaway vehicle. 

He pulls back and continues to inch his way around the periphery of the small holding, wondering if luck will ever be on their sides just for once. There’s a sudden noise and he freezes, his heart rate escalating until he realises that it's one of the chocobos squawking. He wonder if Prompto's disturbed them, but it quickly falls back to silence and Gladio starts to breathe again. 

A few more footsteps and he's at the back of a storage container, the corrugated metal seemingly held together by large patches of rust. Given its precarious state of health there's unlikely to be anything substantial inside. Gladio's heart sinks; between the falling down barn and the rusting container, there’s a distinct possibility that whoever lives here doesn’t own a vehicle for them to steal.

At the point where he estimates he’s covered half of the distance around the property, he becomes aware of footsteps. He listens for a moment, taking cover behind some oil drums until he's certain that it's Prompto making his way around to meet him. He gives a low whistle just as Prompto comes into view, the other man's head snapping towards the sound, guns raised. 

“Hey,” Gladio calls out, standing up slightly and beckoning him over. “Any luck?”

“There’s a bike,” Prompto says. “Doesn’t look in the greatest state of repair but that’s all I could find. That and the chocobos.”

There's a look on his face that Gladio questions instantly. “What?”

Prompto shrugs, his expression still unhappy. “They're not healthy looking. Not like the ones at Wiz's place at any rate. I don’t think we'd get very far on them.”

Gladio considers this for a moment. So it’s the bike then.

“Unless you found anything?” Prompto’s voice carries a note of hope.

“A tractor.”

Prompto stares at him for a moment before letting out a laugh. “Gods. Somebody's got it in for us, huh?”

“Yeah,” Gladio says, swiping a hand across his face and wincing at the sweat and grime that comes away on it. “Guess we're takin' the bike.”

On the plus side, at least they can push a bike far enough away from civilisation before they try to start it, giving them a chance to get away unnoticed. It might also serve them better than a car given they’re unfamiliar with the terrain. Providing of course they can get it to start, because it’s fair to say neither of them are mechanic material. 

“Where is it?” he asks.

“Back this way.”

He follows Prompto until they come to a makeshift garage, constructed of four rusting beams driven into the ground with a piece of corrugated plastic balanced on top. For a second Gladio feels a pang of guilt taking something from people who obviously have so little, even if they could be considered the enemy. He sends his sword back to the armiger whilst Prompto covers him. The bike is leaning against a stack of wooden crates and, thankfully, isn’t quite as ancient looking as he was expecting. There’s a battered looking tool kit beside it and— _thank the fucking Astrals_ —resting amongst the socket sets and spanners is the key on a stiff leather fob. 

“Is it weird that I feel a bit bad?” Prompto says hesitantly when Gladio rejoins him with the appropriated property. “I mean, needs must an' all that, but it's still stealing.” His expression says he’s expecting Gladio to yell, but instead Gladio motions for him to hold the bike. 

With the bike now in Prompto's possession, Gladio finds his wallet and takes some of the money Ignis had insisted they all carry. He finds a rock and pins the bills under it, on the ground where the bike stood. He returns to Prompto and takes the bike back off him.

“Better?”

“Hey—” Prompto starts to say.

“Nah, it’s okay. I felt shit about it too.”

They steal away from the smallholding as fast as they can manage, neither speaking nor stopping until they've crested a hill and are safely out of sight. The bike is heavy and it strains Gladio's muscles to push it. Behind them, it's still possible to see the flames leaping within Gralea's walls and a pall of smoke continues to follow them, carried by the evening breeze. 

Eventually Gladio figures they’re far enough away from the property to try and start the motorbike without attracting attention, even if it’s a noisy, spluttering contraption that backfires like a chocobo after a bucketful of gysahl greens.

He slows to a walk and then a stop causing Prompto to do the same.

“Let's give it a go,” Gladio says ominously. “Feel free to say a quick prayer.”

Saying one himself, he climbs astride it then takes the key out of his pocket and jams it in the ignition. It’d be just their luck if the key was for something else, but the good fortune that saw them get away undetected hasn’t run out yet and the engine turns over as he turns the key and twists the throttle. It's throaty and sounds like it might cut out at any second, but frankly it’s the sweetest fucking noise Gladio's heard in ages. 

“Come on,” he says, gunning the engine a couple more times to make sure it's not about to die on them. Prompto doesn’t need telling twice and he climbs onto the pillion seat, settling behind Gladio, one gun still drawn. The bike barely dips, which Gladio is infinitely grateful for, because it probably couldn’t handle carrying two people his size. 

“Ready?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

OoOoO

By accident rather than design they eventually pick up the railway tracks leading away from Gralea and towards Tenebrae. It’s comforting to know they’re definitely heading in the right direction and the flatter land beside the rails helps them to speed more safely, although it’s impossible not to dislike how exposed it makes them. After riding flat-out for several hours, Gladio steers the bike towards a copse of trees and brings it to a stop. His ass is killing him and he seriously doubts Prompt will object to the break. It feels good, no, _amazing_ to get off and shake out his stiff muscles. A quick glance back tells him Prompto is doing the same.

“Man,” Prompto groans his hands pushed into the small of his back. “I’ll never complain about riding in a car ever again.”

Gladio smiles until he remembers the wreckage of the Regalia that he and Noct had no choice but to abandon on the tracks. He looks away, concentrating instead on their surroundings. There's literally nothing to see. Just empty wasteland, like Niflheim consists only of Gralea and anything or anyone outside the walls can go fuck itself as far as the emperor's concerned. Or _was_ , since Emperor Aldercapt is now just a puddle of black goo back at Zegnautus. 

The downside to stopping is it’s allowed the last of Gladio's adrenaline to burn away. All at once he’s tired and lonely and acutely aware of how far from home they are. He’s also irrationally resentful that it’s Prompto standing next to him. He wants Ignis. _Needs_ him.

“D'you wanna stop for a bit?” Prompto says, scanning their surroundings, his eyes narrowed. “Do they even _have_ havens in Niflheim?”

“Dunno.” Gladio pictures Ignis again and swallows hard. “Maybe we should keep movin'. Every mile we put between ourselves and the capital makes me feel a whole lot better.”

“Me too.” Prompto’s still smiling, but there’s that bleakness in his eyes again. Shit. Noct should be here for him. Even Ignis would do a better job of dealing with whatever trauma Prompto has going on. In the end he puts a hand on Prompto's shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“Come on. Let’s get outta here.”

They re-mount and, thank fuck, the bike doesn’t decide to crap out on them. And although his ass resents him after a few more hours squashed against the cheap vinyl seat, it was undoubtedly the right decision when the outskirts of Tenebrae come into view. Tension bleeds from his muscles as he allows the bike to slow to a walking pace. The grip around his waist loosens as Prompto does the same.

“Where are we going?” Prompto yells in his ear over the growl of the engine.

“The manor,” he replies, canting his head back so Prompto can hear him. “We need to contact the marshal.” 

_And Ignis_. But he doesn’t say that. 

OoOoO

Thankfully the woman Noct was talking to before they left Tenebrae is the first person they run into as they approach Fenestala Manor. She—Maria as she introduces herself to them both—recognises Gladio and welcomes them inside. Gladio sees the question in her eyes— _where's Noctis?_ —but he pretends not to notice, instead insisting that she provide him with means to contact Lucis. His obvious urgency keeps the question at bay—for now at least.

She shows him into the ornately furnished parlour, and gestures to a small unit with an old fashioned rotary telephone on it. She states she’s going to get them something to eat and drink in a tone that brooks no protest. Neither he nor Prompto stop her, indeed Gladio suddenly recognises how hungry he actually is. Once she’s gone, Gladio picks up the phone, but he doesn’t dial straight away. He wants to call Monica and tell her what’s happened. Not Cor. But with his cell phone lost, the decision is made already since he doesn’t have Monica's number committed to memory in the same way he does the marshal's. With leaden fingers, he dials the number. 

For a few seconds he thinks Cor's not gonna answer and he can postpone the inevitable. But just as he’s about to lower the receiver, there's a sharp “hello?” and he puts it back to his ear.

“Marshal, I’m calling from Tenebrae—”

“Gladio,” Cor barks, “are you okay? What’s happened? We’re getting reports that Gralea is burning.” 

“Yeah, you could say that.” Gladio glances at Prompto, who's watching him with worried eyes. “Emperor Aldercapt is dead.”

The crackling line doesn’t disguise the sharp inhale from the other end. “You can confirm it?”

“Yessir. Saw it with my own eyes. Ravus Nox Fleuret also died, but he assisted Noct at the end.”

There’s a pause; Gladio can picture the marshal processing this and then—“put Noctis on please.”

Gladio swallows and closes his eyes. “He's—he's not here.”

“Where is he, Gladio?”

“In Zegnautus. He went to find the crystal; he wanted to ask for its help, but it pulled him inside.”

“You weren’t able to stop it?”

Gladio takes a moment, wishing he could see the marshal's face in order to determine what exactly he’s implying.

“No. I believe the crystal is still safe within Zegnautus so we determined we should get back to Lucis to plan our next steps. As soon as we're done here, we'll figure out the quickest way for us to get back—”

“No,” Cor snaps. “Stay put. We need to plan how we can get the crystal out safely and it makes sense for you to lead those efforts since you’ve been inside Zegnautus. Where are you now?”

“Back in Tenebrae, at Fenestala Manor,” Gladio says, his heart sinking.

“Good. If they’ll give you shelter, then stay there. I’ll be in contact.”

The line goes dead just as the door opens and Maria comes back in with another servant, carrying trays of food. Prompto stands up and takes the offerings, thanking them both. They leave again.

“What did he say?” Prompto asks once they’re alone again, having only been privy to Gladio's limited part in the conversation.

Gladio runs a hand down his face, suddenly not hungry anymore. He thinks of Ignis and how he promised him they’d return straight away. Is it still breaking a promise if someone else is forcing you to make a different decision?

“We need to stay here.”

“How long for?”

“I don’t know,” Gladio answers honestly, thinking of Ignis again. “Hopefully not long.”

When Prompto excuses himself to use the bathroom, Gladio picks up the phone again and dials the other number he knows from memory. Ignis needs to know he won’t be back any time soon, but worse will be telling him that they had no choice but to leave Noct behind in the heart of the empire. Seized with dread, he listens to the ringing tone, waiting for the click and for his inevitable confession of failure to begin. When Ignis doesn’t pick up, he breaths out a sigh of relief and puts the phones down, knowing that makes him a fucking coward.


	5. Chapter 4

They’ve been back in Tenebrae for almost two weeks before Gladio manages to speak to Ignis. When he does he realises he’s perilously close to tears just hearing Ignis's voice that first time. Cor's already spoken to him and outlined what happened in Gralea, which makes the conversation marginally easier and when Gladio balks at not being allowed to return to Lucis, Ignis strenuously insists that he must follow the marshal's orders and stay to oversee Noct's rescue. Grudgingly Gladio agrees, but he still hates it.

With that topic exhausted Gladio turns the conversation to Ignis and how he’s doing. Unsurprisingly Ignis is close-mouthed about how he's getting on, his tone cold, detached even. He isn’t going to say if he’s struggling because it’ll just confirm that Gladio was right to send him back and it's obvious he still resents Gladio for what happened. As frustrating as it is, Gladio thinks he probably deserves it given the underhanded way he made it happen.

Worst case scenario, Gladio tells himself it might be a few weeks. What he never _ever_ anticipates is that over six months after he and Prompto screeched back into Tenebrae on that stolen motorbike he'd still be here, amassing and organising a battalion of Kingsglaive troops in readiness to march onto Gralea and liberate the crystal.

As the weeks pass, the shortening days become more obvious. Eventually the members of the Kingsglaive sent by Cor start to arrive in Tenebrae. Gladio and Prompto work ceaselessly, ensuring they have accommodation as they arrive. At this point Gladio realises two things: the first, to his shame, is that he’s never had any kind of conversation with Prompto about what he went through in Zegnautus; the second is that Prompto is possibly the only person keeping him sane right now. His positivity counters Gladio’s pessimism, topping up his half-empty glass. They grow closer and when there’s even a _hint_ of Prompto not being respected by the glaives, Gladio shuts that shit down immediately. That’s how he shows his gratitude. 

A reconnaissance mission is then carried out, with the five despatched glaives gone for several weeks. It’s a nervous wait. Little information escapes from Gralea, and following recent events the gates of the city have remained firmly closed. When the glaives eventually make it back to Tenebrae, they paint a grim picture of a city in chaos. 

The death of the emperor has left a void in the hierarchy of command, which there are always a few unsavoury and unsuitable pretenders eager to fill. Time is of the essence in Gladio's mind; better they get in before the Niflheim forces can be reassembled. But Cor advocates waiting. An assault on the capital is an opportunity to see into the inner workings of the empire. If they’re going to do it, they’re going to do it right. Gladio raises the issue of what some reckless asshole, who doesn’t have the same hard-on for the crystal as the emperor did, might do to Noct while he’s trapped in there. There’s an edge in Cor's voice when he queries Gladio's apparent eagerness to get done quickly and return to Lucis. Gladio doesn’t raise his concerns again.

As a boy he enjoyed reading about historical military campaigns, but he now realises there was a certain amount of romanticism at work in those books because they never actually mentioned how long and uneventful they could be. They stockpile weapons and run training exercises but the tedium is mind numbing and Gladio finds himself wondering if they’re ever gonna go in at all.

Then they lose contact with Lucis. 

The mountains cause communication difficulties at the best of times, but usually the breakdown is only temporary. When the days turn into weeks, it becomes apparent that something more serious has occurred. Gladio contemplates what this disconnect means for their plans. Without input from Cor, he ranks as one of the only senior members of the Crownsguard, so the decision to move onto the capital falls to him. 

More than ever he wishes he could speak to Ignis. These are the moments that Ignis truly shines, when he has the courage of his convictions and will give his opinion if it’s sought. Gladio’s not stupid—he’s weighed the options carefully, but the decision comes with a burden that only he can carry. Prompto does his best, but ultimately his input is limited since he was a civilian less than a year ago. After a few more weeks Gladio realises they’re in a holding pattern. The troops are getting restless and there are signs that they’re starting to wear out their welcome in Tenebrae. They’re as ready as they can be, and Gladio figures the reconnaissance mission will have been for nothing if they wait too long. He wakes one morning, to skies of perpetual grey and feels more strongly than ever that it’s time to go. 

The knowledge that they’re finally getting underway reinvigorates him. They have a clear purpose and have planned precisely how they’re going to make it happen. When they reach the capital they go in hard with troops and all the equipment they need to get the crystal out. They now have the schematics for the keep and they surge through Zegnautus with one destination in mind. Perhaps the most disconcerting thing is the amount of destroyed magitek troopers still littering the corridors from the last time they were here. They meet some resistance, but it’s reduced and ineffectual, like the troopers are still following default orders to simply walk the corridors and attack anyone without the appropriate clearance. It’s crude, and they don’t stand a chance against wave after wave of highly skilled glaive. 

With any threat neutralised, attention turns to removing the crystal. It quickly becomes apparent that they could have simply liberated what they need from inside Zegnautus but it’s a relief to know that this part of the operation shouldn’t be too complicated. 

Up close, Gladio finds himself transfixed by the crystal's colours that appear to swirl with life even though he knows it's just a trick of the light. Still, it’s weird to think Noct is _inside_. It's cool to the touch as Gladio lays his palm on the slick surface. Behind him footsteps approach and he turns to see a glaive approaching.

“The transporter's in position.”

Gladio nods his thanks and gives the crystal one last look before he prepares to throw the tarp over it. 

“Come on, Noct. It's time to get you outta here.”

OoOoO

Gladio's elation grows with every mile they put between themselves and Niflheim. A majority of the troops travel in convoy with the transporter, but there are no nasty surprises and they make it to the coast where the ship that brought the glaives from Lucis is waiting.

As they take to the seas, Gladio reflects on the successful mission. They have the crystal, but more importantly they have Noct. They’re heading back to Lucis—and Ignis. And yet something nags at him, gnawing at the back of his mind, disturbing his sleep and stealing the beauty from the glistening waves when he stares out to the horizon. Having traversed Zegnautus once already, he’d felt confident that they could do the same again, but there’s a common denominator on both occasions that merits more than a passing consideration: Ardyn Izunia.

Gladio hates the prick with every fibre of his being, but it's impossible to shake the notion that they’ve benefited from his fucked up form of assistance once again. They were lured to Gralea, but the path was littered with obstacles, some of which Ardyn helped them overcome. The chancellor then made no attempt to stop Noct reaching the crystal, even though Noct was trying to get to it in order to _stop_ Ardyn. And now, they’ve just waltzed back in and taken the crystal away. The reality dawns on him, disconcerting though it is. The empire is no longer the enemy they should fear most.

It’s one man. 

The journey to Angelgard provides Gladio with more opportunity for wallowing in bittersweet memories, which do little to lift his spirits. It simultaneously seems two minutes and yet a lifetime ago since he and Ignis were stood aboard the royal vessel beneath a sky full of stars, studying the inky black sea and contemplating their futures. With Noct and Prompto asleep and the course to Altissia plotted, they’d encouraged Cid to go get some rest. The benefit was of course some precious time alone together. 

And there had been hope in that brief moment of tranquility. True, Insomnia was gone and they were still barely processing the repercussions of that, but Noct now understood what was expected of him. They were on their way to join Lunafreya in Altissia and together, the king and the oracle would right the wrongs of the empire and bring peace to Eos once more. Gladio's heart had skipped a beat as Ignis had caught hold of his hand and stolen a shy glance at him in the moonlight. Even now he can picture the smile on Ignis's face as he'd reached up and pushed the hair away from his eyes. 

It had occurred to Gladio at that moment that maybe he could have this now. That his father's death had freed him from the obligation of following Clarus's orders, especially those that ran contrary to what he wanted for himself. He’d almost voiced as much to Ignis, so lost in the other man's beauty that anything seemed possible. In the end he’d kept the thought to himself, not wanting to burden Ignis with the guilt he carried for feeling happy that death should have any kind of silver lining.

Now, he studies the darkened waters and reflects bitterly on how things have changed again. Noct is trapped. Ignis is blind. The days are growing shorter, enabling the daemons numbers to multiply. And despite the apparent success getting the crystal out of Gralea, the likelihood is this has happened because it’s been _allowed_ to happen, because they’re all just puppets in Ardyn Izunia's sick little game. 

OoOoO

Gladio figures he’ll feel better when they can finally get the crystal onto Angelgard, but in reality there’s something unsettling about the island that makes him wish they could turn around and sail as fast and as far away as they can. It doesn’t help that they have to anchor up and wait for a break in the whirlpools before they can get close enough to dock. The place has an aura about it, that sends the hairs at the back of his neck prickling. Seeing it from the safety of Galdin Quay in the brilliant sunshine evokes very different feelings than viewing the almost menacing wing-like rock formations in the dead of night. 

They wait three days, and just at the point where Gladio's contemplating throwing himself overboard in frustration there’s a break in the tides. Once docked, attention turns to moving the crystal onto the island. Back when they were still in contact with Lucis, Cor had explained about the umbral isle when Gladio had queried what they were going to do with the crystal once they had it back. Angelgard, Cor had explained, was more than just an interesting photo opportunity for sightseers. The island was sacred; a place where the Six could commune most easily with life on Eos. Taking the crystal there would be returning it to its rightful home.

To ensure that the crystal, and by extension Noct, won't be disturbed, Cor has planned for there to be a permanent glaive presence on Angelgard until such time as they discover a way to free Noct, or the crystal gives him up willingly. With that in mind, Gladio grudgingly accepts that he must lead by example and man the first watch. Prompto agrees to stay, which Gladio is undeniably grateful for. They and the other eight glaives who are staying behind watch the boat leave in silence and Gladio contemplates how quickly a month will pass before they can be relieved by the arrival of the second watch. 

The answer, unfortunately, is not very quickly at all. Familiarity doesn’t change Gladio's opinion about Angelgard, and the discomforting feeling is there, no matter whereabouts he is on the island. But Prompto proves a welcome distraction, encouraging Gladio to fish off the rocky coastline in his downtime whilst he takes dramatic photos of the waves crashing against the bluff. The crystal rests inside the stone prison, where two guards remain posted outside at all times. Gladio tries not to dwell on the history of a prison that's stood on this barren isle for centuries, but if the spirituality of this place can aid Noct in some intangible way then it's worth both Noct and the crystal being here.

So the days and weeks pass. At first they’re all on edge, expecting retaliation or an attempt to take back the crystal, but neither happens. Their nerves are understandable; no communication devices work on Angelgard so while they're here they’re isolated from the rest of the world. They have flares in case of emergency, but if the shit hits the fan, then reinforcements are a boat ride away. But nothing happens and eventually they settle into an existence that involves lots of poker and a permanent diet of fish.

With little to do, Gladio thinks of Ignis often. Time is flying by and in a few more months it’ll be a year since he lost his sight, which is fucking mind blowing in a way. The last time they managed to speak, when Gladio was still in Tenebrae, Ignis had sounded okay-ish. He was re-learning how to cook, meeting obstacles and finding his way around them. But it was slow going, a frustration that was clear from how despondent he'd sounded. Gladio had told him how proud of him he was, and, alone for once he'd told Ignis how much he loved him and how he was counting the days until they could be together again. Ignis hadn’t responded, but the likelihood was that he might have been in earshot of Iris or Monica or Dustin. That’s what Gladio told himself at any rate. 

Now he tells himself that in the months they’ve had no contact Ignis has continued to flourish. He imagines Ignis's smile at the delight in someone's voice when they sample one of his recipes, modestly soaking up their praise for his efforts as he stands at the counter top with flour smeared across one cheek. And of course Gladio's not expecting things to be magically okay between them. Ignis has every right to be pissed at him for what happened in Cartanica even though undoubtedly he’ll have come to realise that it was the only available course of action. But when Gladio gets to Cape Caem, when they can _finally_ be face to face they can talk about it properly. They can clear the air and move forward. 

So when they leave Angelgard four weeks after they first arrived, the boat can’t sail fast enough. To compound Gladio's eagerness, they've agreed that they'll sail to Cape Caem first to drop him and Prompto off and then the glaives can continue onto Galdin Quay without them. Gladio makes up some bullshit about needing to check on operations there and since he’s the highest ranking person aboard the ship, the other glaives don’t see fit to question him. Prompto will get why Caem is his preferred location, even if he doesn’t know the exact reasons. In truth, Prompto wants to see how Ignis and the others are doing too. 

Gladio is standing at the rail watching the island retreat into the distance when Prompto appears at his shoulder. He watches for a moment too, then says, “it’s better than when we had to leave him behind in Gralea.”

Gladio nods in response, knowing Prompto has turned to look at him. 

“I wonder what it’s like for him in there,” Prompto muses softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the engine and the waves. “I mean, is it like sleeping and he'll just wake up and think he’s had a really long dream? Or can he actually see and hear what’s going on outside? Do you think he’s scared? Or totally at peace maybe?”

Gladio's thought about it long and hard ever since Noct was taken, but he’s still no closer to deciding what he believes. For all their clashes, Noct is like a little brother to him and the thought of him scared or in pain has kept Gladio awake plenty. 

“Sleepin', I reckon,” he says eventually. “You know Noct; the guy loves a good sleep.”

“Yeah,” Prompto chuckles although there’s sadness to it too. Sometimes Gladio forgets that Prompto is here because he loves Noct with none of the obligation of duty. At first Gladio didn’t appreciate what that friendship meant to both of them, but he sees it now. He reaches out and claps Prompto on the shoulder.

“He's coming back, okay?” 

Prompto sniffs and nods and at that moment Gladio finds that despite the time that’s passed already, he believes it too. 

OoOoO

The boat has barely bumped up against the dock when Gladio is off and striding for the staircase. He flicks a glance over his shoulder and thankfully Prompto isn’t following. He wants to see Ignis first—to be able to look at him, unguarded, without the fear that Prompto will witness his desperate need to take Ignis in his arms and question its ferocity. Behind him he can hear the boat's engine starting up again as the glaives set sail for Galdin Quay, where the vessel will remain until it’s time for the second watch to be replaced by fresh soldiers.

The lighthouse itself is unoccupied as he takes the elevator to the ground floor. Something curls in the pit of his stomach, a sensation imploring him to take notice of the lack of signs of life. The door creaks noisily as he throws it open and makes for the house. 

Before he’d always associated Caem with clear blue skies and the ever-present roar of the ocean as it hurled itself against the cliffs below. The roar remains, but the sky is dingy—a soupy grey half-light that lends itself easily to misery. Striding down the hill, Gladio shakes it off. Today's gonna be a _good_ day. Fuck what’s going on with the weather.

From his vantage point he can see further down the slope, past the house to the vegetable patch Iris had been so excited about tending. Even from here, he can tell there’s nothing growing—nothing that’s not a weed at any rate. 

“The fuck...?” he mutters, surveying the neglected land. 

His pace picks up, a jog nearing a run. All the time they’d been gone, he’d entertained himself with thoughts of Ignis here, establishing his new normal and independently coming to the realisation that sending him back here was for the best. He’d pictured Ignis, sleeves rolled up, skin a healthy burnished brown, tending the garden by touch and supporting Monica with their efforts against the empire in Lucis. 

In the long, lonely hours in Tenebrae he’d pictured their reunion—landing at Caem and racing up to the house beneath those clear blue skies. Ignis, sitting on the porch inclining his head at the approaching footsteps knowing instinctively who they belonged to. And they’d fall into each others' arms, grabbing fistfuls of shirt and hair, declarations of love spilling breathlessly from their lips. He’d apologise for having to send Ignis away and Ignis would apologise for fighting what was the right thing all along. And he'd gaze at Ignis's face and think him never more beautiful. 

The reality is the house, like the lighthouse and surrounding land, is unoccupied. Dust covers surfaces that would ordinarily be in frequent use. There’s a musty smell, windows sealed for too long keeping out the fresh sea air. The floorboards creak noisily as he ascends the stairs advertising his presence, but no one emerges from any of the bedrooms to see what’s going on. He checks each one, and then the bathroom, but the picture is the same throughout—no one has lived here for some time. He's coming back downstairs when the front door opens. His heart spikes until Prompto appears, his solemn expression a mirror of the one Gladio knows he is wearing too. 

“Where is everyone?” Prompto asks, evidently having reached the same conclusion. “I jogged down to the road and that woman who sells things out of her truck has gone too.”

“Dunno. Doesn’t seem like anyone's been here for a while.”

Prompto nods, his eyes scanning the interior of the house they stayed at a few times. Better times, a fucking lifetime ago. “Maybe they left a note or something?”

That’s a point. He was so fixated on finding first Ignis and Iris, and then _anyone_ , he’s not looked to see if they’d left word about why or where they’d gone.

“You check upstairs,” he tells Prompto. “I’ll look around down here.”

It doesn’t take long. In the bureau next to the table and chairs there's an envelope addressed to Gladio himself. He shouts to Prompto then tears into it, unfolding the notepaper as Prompto hurries back down the stairs. For a second he expects to see Ignis‘s immaculate handwriting and the realisation that he won’t is like a physical blow. Instead it’s the small neat script he recognises from the countless times he's helped Iris with her homework. He scans the words, then looks up to meet Prompto's expectant gaze. 

“They've gone to Lestallum.”

OoOoO

There’s not a lot of detail in Iris's note but it’s a relief to know they’re all safe. They make the decision to stay at Cape Caem overnight, the gloomy grey skies having given way to nightfall earlier than expected. Gladio thinks he’s imagining the feeling of dread brought on by the too-early darkness until Prompto comments something to that effect. With nothing in the cupboards, they eat from their packs in front of the fire they make in the grate. 

Wanting to get an early start in the morning, they decide to turn in, taking the bedroom they all shared during previous stays. The two empty beds feel glaring. Gladio finds himself staring at the one Ignis had chosen the last time they’d come to Cape Caem—the one nearest the window so he could enjoy the sunrise that the rest of them would likely sleep through. He thinks of those simple pleasures Ignis enjoyed. Just looking. The rest of the time his schedule allowed little in the way of idle moments, so he’d truly learnt to treasure those moments. Thinking of it now, Gladio finds himself rubbing his chest. Ignis won’t ever see another sunrise.

“You okay?”

He turns to find Prompto studying him solemnly. Stripped down to his underwear, he’s about to climb under the covers.

“Yeah.” His hand drops. “Just thinkin' about Noct and Iggy.”

The unguarded honesty surprises him. Prompto gets into bed and draws his legs up so he can rest his elbows on his knees. His face is clouded with memories. He looks older somehow. Gladio finds himself wondering for not the first time what the fuck possessed Prompto to want to come with them. Granted, if he’d stayed in Insomnia he’d probably have died in the attack on the city, so what’s not to regret? But seriously. He didn’t exactly choose the easy option, despite not being obligated in the way he and Ignis were.

“I think you’re crazy, you know?” he says, only belatedly realising the statement is apropos of nothing, given Prompto isn’t privy to what’s going on in his head.

Prompto's eyebrows knit together in a frown, before a grin follows. “Uh, thanks? Wanna tell me why?”

Gladio shucks off his shirt and lays it on the end of the bed. He sits down and starts to unlace his boots. 

“Because you chose to come. You didn’t have to; you knew it could be dangerous and yet you still wanted to come.” He drops his boot and meets Prompto's gaze. “Why?”

Prompto laughs softly and runs a hand across his hair. Despite the attempt to flatten it, it springs back up instantly. “You’re kidding, right? Why would I _not_ come?”

“Because of the risk. I know Noct will have been all 'woo, road trip!’ but the fact that you had to get Crownsguard training before we left should have told you it might not be all fun and games. Don’t you wish you stayed clear of all this shit?”

“Never. If anything Noct was the one that was reluctant for me to come. He hates the fact that you and Ignis might get hurt if someone tries to get to him; he didn’t really want to add me to that list. But I wanted to come. I knew the risks.”

Gladio takes a moment before he responds. It’s fucking nuts as far as he's concerned. “You weren’t worried?”

Prompto shrugs. “Not really. Sure, I went away and thought about it, but I never doubted it was what I wanted to do. I guess I prefer to follow my instincts. What’s that quote? Something about ' _we only regret the chances we don’t take_?'” He shrugs again, offering Gladio a lopsided smile. “Makes sense to me. Despite everything, I know I’d have regretted not coming with you all.”

Gladio stares for a moment, feeling like he should offer something in response. 

“Must be nice,” he says eventually, swinging his legs into bed and pulling the covers over himself. Even to his own ears it sounds bitter and he wonders what Prompto thinks. He’s an Amicitia. His life’s supposed to be awesome and privileged. If Prompto calls him out on it, he'll have to resist the urge to tell him how it's not all banquets and riches and fucking sunshine. How Prompto can at least choose who he wants to love without fear of opprobrium. Part of him wants to tell Prompto what a big fucking deal that is, but how can he without telling him about Ignis? Instead he laces his hands behind his head and sighs. “G’night, Prompto.”

“Night, big guy.”

Even though Gladio's not expecting to, he falls asleep easily. In the distance daemons howl, but neither of them stir until morning.


	6. Chapter 5

When Gladio wakes, it’s both later and darker than he thought. In the bed across from him Prompto is still asleep, his jaw open slightly, a gentle whistle emerging every time he exhales. As he lies there, trying to muster the energy to get up, he replays their conversation from last night. He tries to imagine doing things just because you want to—not little things, but big, consequential, _life-changing_ things, just for the hell of it. The snort he gives is almost involuntary. The shield of the king doesn’t get luxuries like that. Instead he thinks about setting off for Lestallum, and the lure of seeing Ignis and Iris again. That lights a fire under him and he throws off the covers, simultaneously launching a pillow at Prompto's head.

“Get up, Sleeping Beauty; time to hit the road.”

Too late, he remembers Sleeping Beauty was—is—what he calls Noct. It stings a little, but he shoves it aside before he loses the forward momentum he’s managed to dredge from somewhere. Prompto is awake now, at full wakefulness with an ease and speed Gladio envies. Fun fact: one of the things he and Ignis have in common is that neither of them are morning people. They both require coffee to approach some kind of normal functioning, Ignis is just better at masking his grouchiness under that ever-cool façade.

They dress and eat, still using what they have in their provisions since there's fuck-all here at the house. The cereal bar he locates—perilously close to dirty underwear—is dry and tasteless, the canned coffee worse. Gladio visualises himself at Lestallum, sitting in the square eating spicy skewers, a cold beer or two to wash it down, then banishes the thought just as quickly in case he starts doing anything really undignified like drooling.

“So what’s the plan?” Prompto says, cutting into his thoughts.

Gladio swallows the last of the cereal bar with a grimace and says, “Head north, find a car, if we can.” It feels wearying to go through this all again but at least they're not in truly hostile territory like when they had to get out of Gralea. And their end destination is infinitely better with the promise of holding Ignis in his arms once again. 

“You never know,” Gladio says once they’re packed up and on the road giving the lighthouse one final glance. “Maybe we'll get lucky and find a hot, sporty number.”

OoOoO

They don’t. 

They don’t even find anything with _wheels_ , let alone the hotrod Gladio would love to see them screeching into Lestallum in. It takes three days heading north before someone passes them and pulls over to offer them a ride for the last part of the journey to Lestallum. Prior to that they’ve walked, their speed and direction dictated by the proximity to havens so that they have somewhere safe to camp at night. By the time the guy— an old fella called Bill—invites them to climb onto the back of his flatbed truck, Gladio's feet look like two slabs of raw meat whenever he feels brave enough to take them out of his boots. Prompto’s not fared any better, but they both bear it stoically, knowing every step is a step closer to everything they’ve been without for the last nine months. 

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do?” Prompto asks as they bump along on the back of the truck. His eyes are closed as he lies flat on his back, his pack under his head as a pillow. Obliquely Gladio realises that despite all their days walking and the temperature steadily climbing, Prompto's hardly sunburnt, something they mercilessly ripped him for when they first left Insomnia. _Where’s the damn sun?_

“Find Iggy and Iris and then grab the coldest beer I can find.”

Prompto grins but still doesn’t open his eyes. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Hn,” Gladio mutters by way of reply, because his fantasies of being reunited with Ignis don’t feature Prompto loitering awkwardly in the background. The scenery whizzes by, although Gladio's certain the old guy could stand to go a little faster if he wanted to. Going off the terrain, they’re not far from the Coernix station at Cauthess, which puts them about an hour out of Lestallum. His feet are still throbbing despite being off them for the past forty minutes and he wonders how much he’d have to pay the old guy to take the truck right into the centre of town. 

With nothing to talk about, Gladio can feel his eyelids growing heavy. Eventually he succumbs to the truck's swaying movements, meaning he misses the first glimpse of Lestallum in the distance. Abruptly he wakes to Prompto grabbing his arm and shaking it, his voice animated in a way he hasn’t heard for a long time now. 

“Look, look! I can see it!”

Blinking a few times, Gladio's eyes focus on the direction of Prompto’s point. He’s right. Up ahead Lestallum stares back at them, the Exineris plant looming over the town like an over-protective big brother. He acknowledges the sudden thickness in his throat. After dreaming about it for so long, it’s finally here. He rubs his palms on his knees and swallows hard. 

Their saviour, Bill, stops along the main drag and without the breeze, the heat hits them like a wall. Gladio’s too nervous and excited that he forgets about his shredded feet—up until the moment he has to put his weight on them as he jumps down from the truck. The town's definitely not as busy as he remembers it, but it’s still a relief to see signs of life, from the street vendors trying to entice people to part with their money to the gang of youths congregating at the lookout point, grinning and elbowing each other as a couple of pretty young women pass.

Gladio half-walks, half-hobbles to the front of the truck and pats the cab roof as he thanks Bill for stopping for them. As the truck drives away, Prompto raises a hand in case Bill is looking in his rear view mirror. With a weary groan, Gladio hefts his pack onto his back. 

“Where to?” Prompto asks, surveying their surroundings in the same way Gladio was doing moments earlier. “Where d'you think they’ll be?”

Gladio considers the question for a moment. “The Leville maybe?”

“Worth a shot.”

They set off together with almost perfect synchronicity. Although Gladio's not exactly a fan of the town, these streets now almost feel like home as their journey from Insomnia brought them back here time and time again. As they navigate their way around a group of men almost completely blocking one of the alleys, Gladio realises his initial assessment about Lestallum not being busy was wrong. Looking up, every balcony and terrace is occupied; men, women and children going about their business in the stifling heat. There are people everywhere yet paradoxically they've managed to suck the life out of the town. Lestallum can’t _breathe_. 

“Where’d everyone come from?” Prompto asks, wide eyed, as if he’s reading Gladio's thoughts. 

“Dunno.” He thinks of Ignis here, still figuring out how to be blind in this noisy, smelly, densely-packed town. Picking up his pace a little he tries not to lose his shit when an old lady stops abruptly in front of them. She turns and glowers at them both, and Gladio's about to say something back—fuck diplomacy—when he hears someone calling his name.

They both turn sharply but Prompto spots him first, whacking Gladio in the arm to orient him to where he's looking. 

“It's Dustin!” he says, grinning and waving madly at the man hurrying towards them from the direction of the marketplace. And Gladio thinks _thank fuck_ , just to see someone they know in amongst this madness before he does something he ends up regretting.

“Hey, Dustin. It’s good to see you.” They shake hands, then Prompto does the same. A broad guy with a bushy beard jostles them as he pushes past. Despite being the one at fault, he glares at Gladio, mirroring his angry expression.

“Come with me.” Dustin urges. 

They follow him, noticeably moving away from The Leville, making Gladio even more relieved at their fortuitous meeting. On the corner where two streets intersect, Dustin stops and takes out a key. The door he inserts it into is paint-blistered and rotting at the bottom. Prompto and Gladio exchange glances, but dutifully follow Dustin inside. 

It's blessedly cooler in the darkened entryway, but there’s no room for the three of them to stand there so they head straight up the stairs, still following in Dustin's wake. At the top they reach a single door, but this time Dustin knocks. The sound of footsteps greets them. Gladio's pulse races at the prospect that it could be Ignis, even though, realistically, the footsteps are too quick and too _sure_ to belong to someone who's blind. 

And he’s right, but his disappointment is fleeting as suddenly Iris is there and Dustin moves aside so Gladio can take his little sister in his arms properly. For a moment he can’t speak, the words squeezed tight in his chest. He ducks his head and kisses the top of her hair as she clings to him.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says roughly. “You doin' okay?”

“Uh huh,” she answers into his chest, then looks up, her eyes shining with tears. “I am now you’re here.”

He smiles down at her, scarcely able to believe she’s here, and strokes a stray hair off her face. Given her age she seems to change almost every day so nine months apart feels something close to a lifetime. And yet somehow, no matter how old she gets, she'll _always_ be his baby sister, motherless far too young and with a father physically and sometimes emotionally distant for many of her significant milestones.

“You gave us a real scare when we got to Cape Caem and there was no one there.”

“Apologies,” Dustin says, picking up the story before Iris can respond. “The situation was becoming increasingly precarious as the nights were becoming noticeably longer. We thought it prudent to move ourselves here to Lestallum, as many others have done, but there was no way to alert you other than leave a note.”

“Yeah. What’s with all the people?”

Dustin gestures for them to sit. The apartment they’re in is small—poky is probably more accurate a description—with the kitchen, living area and bed all crammed within the one room. Aside from where they came in, there’s only one other door, which presumably leads to a bathroom. It’s sparsely furnished, although that's probably for the best given the lack of space.

“Lestallum has the power station,” Dustin explains. “People feel safer. After we lost the phone lines, more and more people decided to come here.”

“From?” Prompto asks, as he lowers himself onto the battered couch. 

“All across Lucis.” Dustin pushes his glasses up his nose. “Although there’s still many hours of daylight, the lengthening darkness is enabling daemon numbers to multiply. For people who live at the smaller, more remote outposts, the likelihood of being overwhelmed at some point has increased so they've decided to come here. It’s creating a strain on resources, but the town's coping for now.”

“So who's place is this?” Gladio asks, surveying the apartment. Iris is pressed up next to him on the couch and this time she jumps in before Dustin.

“Mine—with Dustin and Talcott too; it’s a bit of a squeeze, but we manage.” True enough, Gladio looks around and sees bedding and pillows stacked at the side of the couch. 

“Where is Talcott?” Gladio asks, ashamed to say he’d forgotten about the boy.

“Running errands,” Dustin says.

With Ignis, presumably. It makes sense that one of them would accompany him anywhere in order to act as his eyes. Granted, Talcott's a bit young—but it's preferable to Ignis being out there alone. Speaking of which...

“So where does Ignis live? I’m guessing he’s somewhere with Monica?” He tries to make the enquiry sound casual, but the pretence is dropped the second Iris's smile falters and her eyes dart to meet Dustin's. On Iris he knows that look. It’s having to tell Clarus she’s gotten into trouble at school or broken something valuable in the house. Something she knows she’s about to catch hell for. 

Gladio finds himself looking at Prompto, who's obviously seen it too.

“Guys? Where's Ignis?” Gladio asks, more forcefully this time.

And fuck, if Iris isn’t reaching for his hand. Physical contact for bad news. “We... we don’t know, Gladdy.”

_Don’t know?_ Unconsciously he pulls his hand away. Iris looks at it, hurt, before she meets his gaze again with damp eyes. Her lip trembles. “He left one day and we don’t know where he's gone.”

It’s only when she seems to shrink back from him does he realise that he’s glaring. What the fuck? Where could Ignis have possibly gone in his condition? With Herculean effort, he reins in his anger, channelling it into a long exhalation as he massages his eyes. 

“When did he go missing?” he hears Prompto asking.

“A few months ago,” Dustin says. “When we lost contact with you he started to isolate himself. We all tried to keep him going but I think he felt frustrated that he wasn’t there with you. Then we had to leave Cape Caem and come to Lestallum.” Dustin glances at Iris whose fingers are knotted in her lap. “I’m afraid he didn’t adjust well to living here.”

More willpower is required not to say _but how could you just let him leave?_ Ignis is his own man and, sure, he should have autonomy, but if he's gonna make shitty decisions, then those around him need to step up, just like he did in Cartanica when he told Noct he had to bench Ignis for his own good. 

Fuck. They need to find him.

“Who saw him last? Did he say _anything_ about what he was planning?” Gladio asks, his eyes flicking between Dustin and Iris.

“Monica saw him the morning he vanished, but he didn’t say anything to her,” Dustin answers. “When we realised he’d gone, we asked around and eventually we found someone who said they’d seen a person matching Ignis's description getting into a truck on the outskirts of town. We tried to find out more, but I’m afraid all our efforts have been in vain.”

Listening, Gladio buries his head in his hands. “This is all my fault,” he mutters, to himself mainly.

“What's that, Gladdy?”

He lifts his head up, feeling utterly drained all of a sudden. “I said it’s all my fault. If I’d not insisted he stay behind after Altissia, I could have kept him safe.”

And yet he knows it’s not true. Gralea isn’t such a distant memory that he can’t remember how dangerous it was. He and Prompto barely made it out; what chance would they have had with another person who couldn’t fight properly? He stands up suddenly, ignoring the protests of his sore feet.

“I need to find him.”

He goes to take a step but Iris catches hold of his hand, her expression distraught. “Gladdy, wait! You only just got here.”

“I know.” He forces a smile, completely at odds with how he actually feels. “I’m not goin' anywhere but I wanna at least start asking around. Noct’d never forgive me if I didn’t drag Iggy's stupid ass back here.” 

It’s obvious Iris isn’t convinced, but she sniffs and nods, reluctantly letting go of his hand. 

“Prompto,” Gladio says, turning his attention away from his sister for a moment. “Why don’t you look into finding us somewhere to stay, huh?”

“Sure.”

“I can assist with that,” Dustin interjects. “Cor has tasked Monica with supporting the local town council lodging the refugees so she should be able to help.” 

Gladio nods, thinking of Clarus and wondering what their father would make of his children being refugees. Talk about a fall from grace. 

“Great. And speaking of the marshal, where can I find him?”

OoOoO

The mayor of Lestallum is a small rounded man by the name of Lucio Marconi whom Gladio instantly realises is way out of his depth in respect to the humanitarian crisis looming over the town, given the alacrity he greets Gladio with. As a result, he’s more than happy to defer to Cor's military grade organisational skills and all round no-shit taking authority. In deference to his natural leadership abilities, the mayor has installed Cor in his office, which is exactly where Gladio finds him when he arrives at the council chambers after leaving Prompto with Monica to try and fix them up with somewhere to crash. Cor's writing in a ledger when Gladio is shown in and he doesn’t look up immediately, like this happens a million times a day. When he does, his eyes widen and the pen stills in his hand.

“Gladio.”

Then Cor's out of his seat and striding around the desk. He stands in front of Gladio, conducting a speedy visual assessment, his expression all the while indicating that he can’t quite believe Gladio's actually here. Done, he claps Gladio on the shoulders and shakes his head. There's _almost_ a smile.

“It's good to see you. I take it you’re here because everything went to plan?” Cor gestures to the seat in front of his desk, which Gladio takes. Without asking, he pours Gladio a drink from the crystal decanter on the unit behind him as well as one for himself. Gladio figures he must look like he needs it.

“Uh yeah,” he replies, ignoring the glass for a moment. “There are glaives stationed at Angelgard on a rota so the crystal—Noct—will be constantly protected and monitored.”

“Good, good.” Sitting back down, Cor tents his fingers, evidently mulling this over to his satisfaction. Gladio decides to stay silent, waiting for Cor to offer his thoughts on what they should do about Ignis, because surely that’s gonna be the next topic of conversation. 

“Well I’m really pleased you’ve made it over here. Monica will be able to find you some accommodation—”

“Prompto's already on it.”

Cor's eyebrows do a quick flick upwards at that before he shakes his head again, this time amused. “You know when Noct said he wanted Prompto to come with you all and he joined Crownsguard training, I never thought in a million years he’d be cut out for it and actually _survive_ if you ran into any trouble. Guess he proved me wrong, huh?”

“I guess he proved us all wrong, Sir,” Gladio replies, his voice even. Yeah it's true he'd felt the same back then, but Prompto's more than proved himself brave and principled and a skilled fighter despite his lack of any lengthy formal training so Gladio's not about to let anyone—not even the marshal—trash talk him.

“Well it’s good to have you both here now; astrals know we need the manpower. In fact, once you’re fixed up with a place in town I could do with you accompanying a supply run to Tollhends Stronghold. The hunters are working well, but they need someone to keep them organised and stop them getting drunk and fighting each other and appropriating things for themselves. I know I can count on you for that. There's a contingent scheduled to leave first thing tomorrow morning. I trust you’ll be okay taking charge of that?”

Gladio knows he’s gaping, but clearly there’s no real place for subtlety in this conversation.

“Sir, with all due respect I literally just got here. And I believe there are more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Oh?” There's a feigned innocence in that one syllable enquiry, but Gladio is instantly sixteen again and preparing to explain to the marshal why he’s gonna be late for Crownsguard training. 

'Oh' is an invitation to defy him—a kindly 'let's see where this is going' prior to the inevitable evisceration. Gladio's seen others on the receiving end often enough to know the outcome will only go one way. But maybe things will be different his time. Maybe, after the success of the recovery operation to liberate the crystal—and Noct—from Zegnautus, Cor sees him of more of a peer than a subordinate, and with Ignis's well-being forefront in his mind, he decides to take that chance.

“Sir, Dustin tells me Ignis hasn’t been seen for several months now and, given his physical limitations I think we need to prioritise finding him.”

His tone is deferential despite the urge to yell _what the fuck have you been doing to actually try and find him?_ But Cor's still looking at him like there should be more, like what he’s said doesn’t make his feelings abundantly clear. He bites.

“Ignis is a vital part of the Crownsguard and if manpower is needed then we should be finding him. You know how good he is at organising stuff; he could be really useful to you here—”

“Gladio,” Cor says, with deliberate patience, although his gaze is flinty. “Do you not think that’s exactly what I tried to do when Ignis and the others arrived from Caem? It was the perfect solution given his 'physical limitations' as you call them. He didn’t want to, but he recognised it was a way he could be useful. But he became frustrated at having to rely on others to read information for him, or write anything down. He was making mistakes because he refused to let people help him. I tried to talk to him. I won’t lie; it got quite heated and I advised him to take some time to clear his head.”

“So you let him leave Lestallum?” 

Cor eyes him sharply, evidently not liking the accusation. “He’s a grown man, Gladio.”

“But he’s not himself at the moment! He’s not thinkin' straight!”

“Straight enough to have packed a bag and hopped on a truck out of here.” 

Cor studies him for a moment; Gladio can almost here him thinking. Uncharacteristically he relents a little, a sigh proceeding his next words.

“Of course I’m worried about him Gladio, and of _course_ I want to find him, but we have a duty to fulfil. There are citizens who barely escaped the destruction of Insomnia and they’re here now in Lestallum. The capital city may be gone, but it still falls to us to care for its subjects. Now we can cut Ignis some slack because of his injuries, but the rest of us need to focus on the people, on _their_ needs. And I need you with me, Gladio. You need to put your feelings aside and concentrate on your duties. Your father might no longer be with us, but you should still aim to make him proud. You’re an Amicitia, after all.”

_Don’t I fucking know it_ , Gladio thinks bitterly, but he doesn’t say it, instead giving a muted nod. He reaches for the glass and downs the liquor in one swallow, ignoring the resulting fire that scorches a path down to his belly.

Sensing he's emerging from the disagreement victorious, Cor straightens and offers Gladio the closest thing he has to a smile. He raps his knuckles on the desk, signalling the matter closed.

“Excellent. So I can count on you to supervise the supply run up to Tollhends tomorrow?”

“Yes, Sir,” Gladio replies, and hates himself for it.

OoOoO

Prompto manages to secure them temporary accommodation at a hostel for the night. Monica is profusely apologetic but a sizeable contingent from east of Hammerhead had arrived a couple of hours before them, making lodgings slim pickings. To Gladio it hardly matters. He barely sleeps and at dawn he's up and waiting for the supply trucks and the eight hunters he’s supposed to be supervising to Tollhends Stronghold. _Just this one trip_ , he tells himself, hoping it’ll be enough to get Cor off his back for a while so he can focus on finding Ignis.

He's exacted a promise from Prompto to take care of Iris and the others until he's back, which Prompto had readily agreed to but Iris had baulked at, reminding Gladio of his own promise that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere given he'd only just arrived. It had been a half-hearted complaint though given she understands only too well the sacrifices expected of the Amicitia family for the crown and its people.

The trip is expected to take five days at most and should be pretty straightforward according to Cor. Tollhends Stronghold has been abandoned for some time now, but as a well-equipped imperial base it has resources that they can’t afford to just leave there to rot and rust. The plan is to get in, complete a full inventory, load up with whatever they can fit on the trucks, ensure whatever they leave behind is stored appropriately and come back to Lestallum. 

The fact that the base has been abandoned for a while means there are likely to be creatures that have found their way inside the walls, hence the plan to take hunters rather than civilians. But someone ultimately needs to be responsible for organising things so that they can get in and out safely and have a detailed inventory of what's available to them at the base, hence the need for Crownsguard personnel.

On this occasion they set off in convoy as the sun reluctantly appears over the eastern skyline. In the first truck, Gladio rides up front with a hunter called Farrell. Farrell is a morning person, like Prompto—endlessly chirpy and keen to ask Gladio rafts of questions about life in Insomnia. Gladio dutifully grins and bears it and answers his questions, then when he thinks he’s bought himself enough goodwill, he decides to ask Farrell about Ignis because he's still gonna try and find him, even whilst he’s following orders. 

At first Farrell doesn’t know who he means until Gladio reluctantly supplies a physical description. This apparently triggers Farrell's memory and he proceeds to tell Gladio about his own encounters with Ignis around Lestallum, which to be fair amount to very little beyond helping him navigate his way around. Farrell's obviously smart enough to know Gladio's asking because he knows this person and he keeps his talk respectful. But one of the other hunters overhears their conversation and sticks his stupid grinning face into the cab between them and asks if they’re talking about the guy with the posh voice and _the fucked up face._ Naturally, Gladio wants to know what _he_ knows about the guy 'with the fucked up face' but when met with Gladio's ire the hunter with a deathwish shrugs sullenly and says he just saw him around Lestallum. Having watched this exchange, Farrell wisely changes the subject.

It takes about three hours to reach the base. They park on the road leading up to the main gates and get out of the trucks, readying their weapons before they've taken a single step. The base looks abandoned, but a screeching from within the walls says otherwise. The prospect of combat does little to raise Gladio's sprits, nor does the actual act itself. 

If anything his mood worsens since the hunters tend to act alone, and the possibility of them shooting or stabbing each other is frighteningly high. It takes a few hours, but they eventually clear all the creatures that have made their homes in the abandoned base. There are a few injuries to deal with, but they’re little more than cuts and scrapes and the mood is jubilant and rowdy amongst the hunters who are getting to do what they enjoy alongside the thrill of knowing that they’re helping save humanity.

The atmosphere is dampened somewhat when the focus of their efforts turns to administration work, which evidently hold less appeal for the shoot first, ask questions later mob. Gladio organises them into teams of two, each taking a separate area of the imperial base to investigate rooms and catalogue what they find there. It’s a large base so, as predicted, it’s going to take them several days to complete an inventory before they can then turn their attention to figuring out what to take back to Lestallum and what can stay here for now.

At night, there's a risk of nocturnal creatures getting curious and showing up or—worse—daemons. Once again Gladio organises them into groups, allowing some to sleep while others are on sentry duty. Light and noise are kept to a minimum and the ebullience and braggadocio of earlier on are tempered by the prospect of daemons. Alone in the room he's commandeered for himself Gladio lies on his bedroll and thinks of Ignis. From elsewhere the muted sounds of conversation drift along the corridor, forcing him to acknowledge the fact that he's really fucking lonely.

He thinks of all the times they’d lie there, waiting until Noct and Prompto were definitely asleep before they could share each other's warmth, hands delving under covers and clothing to find the hot, sensitive skin beneath. And they'd laugh into each other’s mouths at that shameless eagerness, noses and foreheads touching, breathlessly shushing each other to be quiet or they’d wake the other two. In the darkness Gladio closes his eyes, keen to recreate the memories. 

He loves seeing Ignis this close, so close it takes his eyes a moment to adjust. He studies every detail, treasuring each change as he works Ignis with his hand, from the crease of his brow to the way his lips part as he comes closer to orgasm. It’s that face he imagines now as he pushes aside his underwear to grasp himself and stroke his length to full hardness. He imagines the heat of Ignis's skin, both of them in danger of starting to sweat beneath the blankets. How every so often they would reluctantly have to pause proceedings while one of them would check that their tent mates were still oblivious to what was going on. When he recalls the noises Ignis would make as his pace quickens, throwing his rhythm out of whack until his muscles clench and he lets out a groan, the breath that follows it escaping in a shudder.

Spent, he lies there for a moment aware of his heart pounding in his chest until it eventually returns to normal. Under the covers, he uses his underwear to clean himself up and then wriggles into fresh shorts from his duffel. Sleep still evades him so he lets his mind wander back to Ignis once more. He imagines Ignis's face again, how the sharp acerbic expression he wears like armour softens into a look only he gets to see when they’re intimate without the pressures of doing it somewhere they could be caught. His own expression mirrors it unconsciously. 

Without warning, the image changes. Like flowing lava, a darkness steals across Ignis's skin, cracking the smooth pale flesh and turning it raw and angry looking. It closes his eye, sealing it beneath scabrous scar tissue. His other eye, a shade of green Gladio finds so mesmerising, clouds over and loses its lustre. His gaze, even in Gladio's imagination, drifts upward so that he’s no longer looking at Gladio's face even though Gladio knows he’s supposed to be. From the euphoria moments earlier, he now feels as if a vice is clenched around his heart. His memories transport him to Altissia, to their first conversation after Ignis regained consciousness.

_So... what can you see?_

_Absolutely nothing._

_Nothing? No shapes or light and dark? Surely you can sense movement?_

_No. There’s nothing Gladio. Nothing at all. It's just... black._

He’d been seized by horror at that. Like the thought of wearing a blindfold, frantically scrabbling at it but never being able to take it off. The thought of Ignis being alone and out in the world like this is terrifying. He reminds himself that Ignis is smart and resourceful and whatever his reasons for leaving were, he’ll be okay. It’s a valiant effort, but it’s destined to fail. 

“I’m gonna find you, Iggy,” he says under his breath. “I’m gonna find you _soon_.”

Gladio eventually manages to sleep, but it’s broken and in no way restful. 

Almost as if he knows he’s lying to himself. 


	7. Chapter 6

In his head this run out was a one-off. Cor is pleased with the supplies they return with and the stockpile left behind so Gladio decides to capitalise on the marshal's good mood by telling him about his plans to speak to people and maybe travel to some of the areas around Lestallum to see if Ignis is there or if there have at least been any sightings of him.

But of course Cor has other ideas and once again Gladio finds himself on the receiving end of the lecture about duty and doing the right thing. In private he rages, but he knows Cor's got a point even if he hates it so ultimately he does as he’s told. The world's going to shit, with the nights getting longer and if people are gonna survive, they need to be ready for the time when the dawn doesn’t break at all. The only potential positive of allowing himself to be sent out on supply runs or rescue missions is he can ask around about Ignis, but time after time he comes up blank. Gladio thinks of Noct over on Angelgard, trapped inside the crystal. He wonders about his own state of mind when he finds himself envious of that fate.

The weeks turn into months and one day he wakes up to discover it’s exactly a year since he and Prompto came back to Lestallum. _One whole fucking year_ since he’d arrived expecting to finally be reunited with Ignis and instead discovered to his horror that Ignis had been allowed to leave despite almost certainly not being in the right state of mind to be going anywhere alone.

Now he and Prompto have an apartment they share, even though they're rarely in it at the same time. He knows Prompto is asking around too, but like his own inquiries they’re met endless variations of 'sorry, we haven’t seen him'. They both carry a photo of Ignis, although showing it to anyone is always accompanied by a somber description of the physical changes to the man they’re looking for because Prompto hadn’t taken any new pictures of him after Altissia. On occasion people express their shock that Gladio would let a blind man go wandering on his own in such dangerous times, leaving him clenching his teeth so hard his jaw aches for hours afterwards.

Other well-meaning platitudes don’t help either. Whenever he expresses his fears that Ignis is out there alone, someone will remind him that Ignis chose to go. That it was his _right_. Bullshit, Gladio thinks. Ignis is a stickler for rules and that sense of duty runs through his veins in the same way it does Gladio's. When he left, he wasn’t thinking straight, and that’s reason enough to try and find him. But duty always wins, binding him as tightly as it ever did in Insomnia. His days are filled with tasks and missions that will hopefully give humanity a fighting chance against the coming darkness while they await Noct's return. He knows he should be deriving some sense of personal satisfaction from that, but all he feels is... empty.

Lestallum grows ever more crowded. Refugees continue to pour into the town as the nights get longer. On days when the weather is bad it feels like there’s no daylight at all, and the thought that this is a dress rehearsal for the inevitable is terrifying. Gladio leads missions to shore up the defences of important outposts. They build high fences and install flood lights that will help keep daemons at bay. Some days he wakes seized by panic. When this happens, his mind refuses to entertain anything except the notion that Ignis is dead and Noct isn’t coming back. Days like this Gladio wonders why they’re even bothering trying to survive. 

OoOoO

But somehow he keeps going, keeps dragging himself out of bed and putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that their lives didn’t always look like this. Insomnia feels like a dream, made real only when they reminisce about places they used to go to and people they knew there. In this new life there are some small bright spots—like watching his little sister grow into a confident, resourceful young woman who navigates Lestallum like she’s lived here all her life and is carving out a reputation as a go-to tradesperson. And when he thinks of his father, he knows the old man would be proud of everything he's doing for his king. He's following orders and fulfilling his duties. An Amicitia worthy of the family name. But as always, none of it means shit without Ignis. 

It’s coming up on two years when Gladio first hears something that gives him, well, not hope exactly, but at least something that will allow him to believe that Ignis didn’t just vanish into thin air. A story reaches his ears that there are some people in town who've travelled down from the region just north of the Vesperpool. There's little up there because the mountainous land is so inhospitable, but they occupy a small settlement and tend to a substation up there, which _is_ important because the link between that facility and the Exineris plant at Lestallum is what keeps a significant amount of Cleigne in power. 

According to talk he hears around town, they’ve come to collect supplies, which they’ve apparently done in the past without fanfare, but this time they're here to request assistance too. They’ve heard about the operation to secure the outposts and want the same for their humble settlement. Cor has readily agreed knowing the importance of keeping the power station running. These days Gladio's relationship with the marshal is polite but distant. He resents Cor for keeping him from looking for Ignis properly and the feeling seems mutual, since Cor views his attitude as unbecoming for a servant of the crown.

In all fairness Gladio has little interest in being involved in that mission, until he hears something that pricks up his ears—on a previous trip down here they took a man with them who was looking for a ride out of Lestallum. 

A _blind_ man, more specifically. 

Iris tells him this, having burst into his apartment seconds earlier as he was putting away the breakfast things. Hands on knees, she's still breathless from her sprint from the marketplace. She describes the man to Gladio, enthusiastically gesticulating to illustrate his height and build, but he needs no convincing. Together they hurry through the streets, calling out apologies to those who don’t get out the way fast enough. They split up, searching for the man Iris saw, but it’s morning and the marketplace is bustling with people, eager to see what the stallholders have to offer. When they reach the other end, both of them empty-handed, Gladio almost rages with despair and then—

“Cor!” Iris yells, gripping the sleeve of Gladio's shirt. “Go see him! If these people have asked for help too then surely Cor will know where they are?”

She's right. Cor will be organising the delegation from Lestallum so Gladio's little choice but to speak to the marshal. Without another word, Gladio spins on his heel and sets off running for the council chambers, adrenaline fuelling his steps. His mind conjures stories of Ignis becoming an integral part of their community. He pictures him formulating plans, deciding who to send to Lestallum and awaiting their return. Maybe Ignis is reminiscing about Lestallum and the times they spent here. He squelches that hope as he arrives at the council chambers, taking the stairs two at a time, realising all of a sudden that he’s no idea what he's going to say now he’s actually here.

Cor's in his office talking to someone, but Gladio decides he can’t afford to wait. Taking a steadying breath, he knocks on the closed door then opens it anyway in case Cor's about to tell him to come back later.

“Gladio,” Cor exclaims at the intrusion. “Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, taking it as permission to come in. There’s a short heavy-set man sitting in the chair in front of Cor's desk who's now eyeing him curiously. “I need to speak to you if that's okay.”

Given how things border on frosty between them, Gladio's expecting to be sent on his way. Instead Cor gestures to the stranger. 

“Well it's not bad timing actually. This is Arturo Rose; Arturo, this is Gladiolus Amicitia, shield to King Noctis. Arturo's come from Solerno up in the north to request our assistance in building their defences. Arturo's community look after the substation up there.”

Gladio nods. Best to let Cor think this is all news to him. 

“So I’m going to send a truck to Aracheole to pick up some supplies, then they can go in convoy up there. Arturo says there are enough people in Solerno to do the bulk of the work so it doesn’t have to be a large delegation from here, but I’d like you to head it up, Gladio.”

Gladio fights to keep his expression neutral. There's no doubt that in Cor's mind this is punishment for transgressions both real and imagined. The journey is likely to be an arduous one and the work once he’s up there back-breaking in brutal conditions. Cor's probably thinking it’ll teach Gladio to be a little more agreeable to tasks closer to home after this. Shame he was about to volunteer his services anyway.

“That _is_ okay isn’t it, Gladio?” Cor says when he doesn’t reply. He’s watching Gladio's face closely, evidently expecting an argument but perhaps wondering if Gladio's got the balls to start something in front of a stranger. “What was it you wanted to see me about anyway?”

Gladio blinks. “Oh, uh, it was only to let you know that there were new people in town. But yes, Sir. I’ll lead the supply run to Aracheole,” he says, careful to make sure he doesn’t sound too happy about it.

OoOoO

“And you’re _happy_ about it?” 

Prompto looks at him like he’s lost his mind as he sits on the bed watching Gladio stuff clothing into his duffel. Gladio debates which undershirt to take, then throws them both in before meeting Prompto’s incredulous gaze.

“It’s the first lead we’ve had on Ignis's whereabouts, _period_. I’ve gotta take that chance and go with them. There are other settlements up that way so even if Ignis isn’t actually in Solerno, there might be someone there who knows where he _has_ gone.”

“Does Cor know?”

“No.” Gladio gives him a pointed look. “And don’t tell him; at least until we’re on our way. If he thinks that’s why I’m going, he’ll order me back and send someone else.”

“You got it. Does Iris know?”

“She’s the one who told me, so she knows I’ll be going.”

Prompto chews on his finger for a moment. “D’you really think it’s him?”

“It’s a big fucking coincidence if it’s not.” Gladio stuffs his small toiletry bag in the duffel. “I’ve gotta try. Even if he’s not there, it’s still somewhere else to look.”

Prompto considers this, his lips pressed into a straight line. When he meets Gladio's gaze, there's cautious optimism in his eyes. 

“Bring him home, Big Guy.”

OoOoO

Cor doesn’t send him on the supply run to Aracheole, so Gladio ends up with another couple of days to get his shit in order. He has a meal with Iris at marketplace diner where she chats animatedly about her burgeoning business mending and repurposing clothes and other household items. Admittedly he’d thought it was cute at first—a little pocket money scheme that kept her and Talcott out of trouble, until he’d realised just how sought after her services were. Now she’s talking about branching out to other high demand items and he couldn’t be more fucking proud of her business acumen. 

Just before the Aracheole run is due back, Cor sends for Gladio. He dutifully heads up to Cor's office, stomach churning, convinced that the marshal knows why he’s not fought against being sent on this nightmare of a mission. As he waits for Cor to finish speaking to someone out in the corridor—the mayor by the sounds of the voices involved—his leg jiggles involuntarily. When Cor re-enters his office, Gladio clamps down on it, giving his hands something to do too. 

“You wanted to see me, Sir.”

“Yes.” Cor drops into his chair and rolls his head between his shoulders. “I wanted to speak to you about going north.”

Gladio nods, his eyebrows raised. He doesn’t want to give a verbal response in case his voice betrays him. 

“Have you heard of the Butchers?”

Gladio thinks, then shakes his head.

“They’re a gang and I can assure you you’ve definitely never had the pleasure of meeting any of them,” Cor says gruffly. “But you’re heading into their territory when you go north so it’s important you know about them. To say they’re dangerous is something of an understatement.”

When he realises Cor's not here to tell him he's being benched Gladio's shoulders slump and he bites his lip to keep from smiling. The marshal however takes it as a response to this topic and his expression darkens. “I’m serious, Gladio. I know you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, but the Butchers aren’t far removed from animals. People from the north call them 'The Wildmen'. There are some terrible stories about them.”

“Like?”

“Like travellers that way disappearing and then being found hacked to pieces. Or never found at all.”

Gladio frowns. “Surely it was just monsters that got 'em?”

Cor rolls his eyes; Gladio's evidently not taking this discussion seriously enough. 

“If a _fraction_ of what they’re suspected of doing is true, then you'll be in grave danger. I don’t think you quite understand how depraved and disgusting they are.”

“Yeah well, if I see anythin' of them, I’ll kill 'em.”

“No!” Cor barks, so sharply Gladio actually jumps. “That's the reason I’m telling you about them. You need to be prepared and protect yourself from them, but you can’t kill them.”

Gladio blinks a couple of times, stupefied. Why the fuck would Cor tell him about a murderous gang and then explicitly say he couldn’t kill them? Less and less of this is making any sense.

“I know how it sounds, Gladio. Ordinarily they'd be the first threat I’d want to see neutralised, but they actually serve a purpose. They occupy a territory known as The Wastes, which includes the Northern Pass—it’s the only route through to Solerno and the other settlements up that way and it's dangerous in its own right; the monsters up there are strong and travellers are easily overwhelmed. Since the Butchers made their home there, the numbers of creatures and daemons has reduced. Without them, the route would be completely impassable.”

Now it makes sense why the people in the settlement up in Solerno don’t come down this way all that often. 

“Let Arturo deal with the gang members,” Cor orders. “He has experience with them if you have to engage with them at all.”

Gladio lets out a breath, reminding himself that there's a reason he’s going on this quickly-becoming-a-pain-in-the-ass mission.

“Fine,” he says, holding up his hands in the face of Cor's expectant gaze. “I’ll keep the people from Solerno safe and I won’t kill the murderous mountain folk.”

Cor regards him sourly. “Don’t disappoint me, Gladio.”

OoOoO

Despite everything Cor says, Ignis remains front and centre in Gladio's mind. It therefore takes every bit of his willpower not to start with the questions the second they’re on the road once they have everything they need. There are now two trucks making the return journey—one containing six men from Lestallum plus the two that came from Solerno and the other, a vehicle that looks as if it’s seen better days, that Gladio rides in with Arturo Rose and all the supplies they’re taking back with them. The plan is to stop over at Meldacio for a couple of days first. Cor's given him a list of jobs to do whilst he’s there, which he completes, but not without conducting his own investigations about what could have happened to Ignis. 

Unsurprisingly there’s nothing. He’s been out to Meldacio many times since he came back to Lestallum and found Ignis gone, so everyone who resides here permanently has already been subjected to his questioning. There are always a few different faces—hunters just passing through, but they can’t help him either. One of them does actually remember Ignis, but from before, when as a foursome they'd assisted on a few hunts to earn some extra cash. Gladio's glad when the supplies from Meldacio are assembled and it’s time to move on. 

Too late he realises their next stop will be the haven at the Vesperpool. They stayed here a few times, also in The Before, and the nostalgia of waking Noct at dawn and actually getting the lazy asshole out of bed to go fishing is almost like a physical pain. It took three attempts when they stayed here at different times for Noct to finally reel in the fish known as _The Liege of the Lake_. They’d all been present when the line had actually held and Noct had landed one of the largest and ugliest fish Gladio had ever seen in his life. He'd thrown it back, but not before Prompto had captured the moment for posterity. Even now, Gladio can still picture Noct's beaming grin and he realises with a jolt how much he misses Noct too.

When the camp's erected they all help out with the food, but Gladio distances himself from the chat and retires to his tent as soon as the meal's over. He’s certain he’ll dream about their adventures here, or wake certain he’ll find Ignis cooking breakfast while Prompto talks his ear off, but neither happens. 

They get back on the road early, eating in the truck from the supplies they brought with them from Lestallum. The shortening days are making all journeys more hazardous, but going north even more so. They don’t want to be caught out here at night.

Judging them now to be a safe distance from Lestallum—and Cor—Gladio clears his throat.

“So, um, I heard a rumour that on a previous trip to Lestallum you gave a ride to a guy—a _blind_ guy. Is this ringin' a bell?”

His heart, already speeding, goes double time as Arturo nods. “Sure. We gave him a ride. Real quiet; don’t think he said more than twenty words the entire time we were travelling.”

“So he's in Solerno?”

“No.” Arturo stops. The look he flicks at Gladio is an unhappy one. “We got through the pass and camped at Boreas haven, but when we woke in the morning he’d gone. We looked for him, but there was no sign of him. Eventually we had to get moving again.”

_Oh gods_... “Where could he have gone?”

Arturo sighs. “There are a few other settlements around. He could have made it to one of those.” But the doubt is clear in his voice. “Was he a friend of yours?”

“Yeah.” 

Arturo doesn’t ask anything else and Gladio can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t make his heart ache more. What the hell was Ignis thinking? Why would he leave Lestallum to come here? He gives himself a shake. Ignis is intelligent and resourceful; there has to be a reason he came up here and he could still be okay. Fuck that, he _has_ to be okay.

OoOoO

Gladio's pretty sure he once heard someone say ‘it’s grim up north’ and if they didn’t then they fucking should have. They rarely ventured this way when they first left Insomnia, having heard stories of the bleak and desolate landscape. Ignis, ever one for counselling caution, had ensured that if there was something they needed, they found it elsewhere and on the rare occasion they had no other option, they got in and got out as fast as humanly possible.

As the terrain starts to change, he's drawn from his musings by Arturo, who taps him gently on the shoulder.

“In about fifteen minutes we'll be reaching The Wastes. It’s wise to have your weapons ready.”

Gladio studies the man’s solemn expression for a moment before he nods. The likelihood is the same's happening in the truck following them.

“The marshal explained about the Butchers,” Gladio says, “what else can we expect?”

At the wheel, Arturo gives a one-shouldered shrug. Gladio estimates he's in his forties or early fifties and seems fazed by very little. “Havocfangs, saberclaws— _lots_ of saberclaws—wyverns and bandersnatch. Nasty bastards, basically. When it gets dark you can throw in some ronin and necromancers.”

“Ouch,” Gladio comments.

“Yeah. The Butchers keep the worst of them at bay though, but it’s a double-edged sword.”

“So how'd you not end up dead?”

Another shrug. “Quid pro quo. We bring them some things they want and they let us pass.”

“Like a toll?”

“Something like that.”

“So why'd they kill anyone else who comes this way? Can't other people pay them off?”

Arturo changes gear as the incline starts to get steeper. The truck lurches slightly then evens out to that chugging pace again. “Why bargain when you can take it anyway? Plus...” Arturo flicks a quick glance at Gladio, “they like it.”

The simplicity of the statement sends a cold sensation down Gladio's spine. Monsters and daemons are one thing, but _people_? 

“Sounds like you’d be better off without them.”

“You’d think. But the fact is no one knows this area better than those boys. Plus, look at it”—Arturo gestures out of the mud-spattered windshield—“who else would want to live out here?”

He’s got a point. Gladio studies the landscape, endless in its blandness. It’s cold and inhospitable, the dark mountains that they’re heading towards rising and disappearing into the cloud. In the distance he catches a glimpse of the lights of a haven rising into the darkening sky—the last point of safety between here and the other side of the mountains. They pass a sign proclaiming the start of the Northern Pass that someone has defaced with the words BEWARE THE BUTCHERS!! next to a stupid smiley face. Fucking hell. 

“How’d they know when anyone's coming though?” Gladio asks. 

“Oh, they know.”

“Okay, but... no offence, but _why_ does anyone come up here?”

“For the meteor shards.”

Arturo glances over in time to catch Gladio's frown. 

“Meteor shards power the plant at Exineris, right? They can be found all over Eos, but there’s a particularly high concentration in the north. Exineris have their own mining operations, but they tend to stick to more accessible places. The Wastes have significant quantities but they evidently didn’t think it was worth it given the risk getting up here. That doesn’t stop other people coming mining their own and selling them to Exineris. They can get a good price for them—there are few other places where the shards are such good quality, so for some it’s worth the risk. That makes rich picking for the Butchers, but without them controlling the pass, hardly anyone would make it.”

So the double-edged sword then. And now those shards are gonna be more valuable than ever in the struggle to fend off the darkness. More people, more people to kill.

“A necessary evil,” Arturo concludes. Then, “See? Up there?”

Gladio cranes his neck, trying to see what Arturo is pointing at. As the road becomes flanked on either side by the mountains, there's a small flicker of light on a ledge about a hundred feet up. 

“A lookout,” Arturo says. “The gang will know someone is travelling through the pass. They'll stop us at some point before we reach the other side.”

Gladio gives a tight nod as adrenaline starts to seep into his veins. He needs to be ready, be it for monsters or men. Ignis could be up here so getting killed here isn’t an option. Not when he could finally be so close to finding him. 

The height of the mountains block out most of the remaining light; all of a sudden it feel like nighttime, when passing this way would be closer to insanity. Gladio imagines the men in the other truck falling silent, everyone's on edge—the men from Solerno because they know what they could be in for, and the men from Lestallum because they don't. 

The rumble of the engine will drown out the sounds of monsters and potentially draw them in which Gladio finds utterly frustrating. Beside him Arturo's face is a study of concentration. Gladio is looking at him when he realises that the truck is starting to slow. Eyes flicking back to the windshield and he sees there’s a figure now in the middle of the road, flagging them down. 

As the truck comes to a stop, the figure—a tall, gangly looking man—slopes round to the driver's side. He’s grinning broadly, revealing a set of brown, uneven teeth. Arturo winds down the window and the man rests his arm on it, leaning in, his leering face filling the space. Even across the cab, Gladio can smell his breath.

“Hey, Tommy,” Arturo says politely. “How's things?”

Tommy makes a show of considering the question. His expression is jovial but there’s a shrewdness in his eyes that says his smile is about as genuine as a shark's. “Not bad.” He quickly jerks his chin toward Gladio. “Who's your friend?”

Arturo gestures in introduction, still using that same placid tone. “This is Gladio. He’s from Lestallum to help us shore up our defences against the daemons along with six more guys in the other truck.”

This gets a bark of laughter, then Tommy spits noisily on the ground beside the truck. “Only fuckin' weaklings need fences! Ain’t nothin' a big fuckin' gun can’t fix, you hear me?”

He’s looking at Gladio now, so Gladio nods, despite the growing urge to get out of the truck and put this stupid fucker on his ass.

“So what you got for us, Mr. Rose?” Tommy asks, still leaning into the cab, like he plans on grabbing the wheel if Arturo decides to try and drive off.

“Everything you asked for. D'you want to take it now?”

“Nah. Drop it off at camp.”

“Will do.”

Evidently Tommy isn’t much of a conversationalist as he bangs on the roof of the cab and steps back. Arturo puts the truck back in gear and accelerates away slowly. A glance in the rear view mirror confirms that the other truck is moving too. Tommy's a mere speck in the distance when Arturo says, “I know what you’re thinking; trust me, I’d love to knock the little prick out too. But they’re—”

“A necessary evil,” Gladio finishes. “But yeah, you've definitely got more patience than me.”

Further into their journey Gladio starts to understand why the people of Solerno tolerate the gang's presence. A couple of times they’ve had to stop and fight. So far it’s only reapertails and havocfangs but it’s easy to see how, in larger numbers, a couple of lone travellers could be overwhelmed. As the truck rumbles on, they start to pass rotting carcasses of monsters and daemons, big and small. Some of the less decayed ones Gladio recognises as things he’s personally fought, and the memory of those battles makes the point only too well. Without the gang keeping a handle on the numbers, the Northern Pass would be, well, impassable. 

Every so often Gladio glimpses movement in the mountains. He can feel his tension levels rising in direct relation to the encroaching darkness. He wonders how the men in the other truck are feeling. Belatedly, he realises Arturo is speaking to him whilst he leans out of the window and signals to the other truck to keep going. 

“The others'll go on ahead to Boreas haven while we drop these supplies. We're approaching their camp. I don’t recommend engaging with any of them and if you've got anything you don’t want them to take I suggest you keep it well hidden.” Arturo meets Gladio's gaze, his dark eyes deadly serious. “They reserve the right to claim anything that takes their fancy and you don’t look like the kind of fella who'd hand it over willingly.”

Already Gladio can picture Cor fixing him with the look that says _don’t start trouble, Gladio_. He murmurs his assent to Arturo, and takes off his necklace just as the truck swings off the road into an opening he wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. The path leads into an area where the mountain recesses. Instantly there are signs of life. A campfire burns with another unlit one set about fifteen feet away. Logs make up seating around both fires. A man is sitting at the larger fire cleaning a gun that would have Prompto salivating. There are some tents which look as if they’ve seen better days pitched in a semi-circle that follow the curve of the mountain behind them.

The sound of the truck brings more men. Gladio doesn’t scare easily, but he gets why the people of Solerno endeavour to remain on good terms with this group. There's a sense of menace about them; before the truck's even come to a stop, they’ve surrounded it like a pack of saberclaws. 

“Come on,” Arturo says, putting the parking brake on and shutting off the engine. “Let’s give them their things and we can get on our way.”

Gladio climbs from the cab and steps down to several sets of eyes watching him intently. _Pinned_ , is the best description his mind supplies to describe the sensation. None of them say a word to him. He meets Arturo around the back in time to see him greeting a stocky man with long, slivering hair and the bluest eyes Gladio's ever seen, with the exception perhaps of Noct. 

“Cade,” Arturo says, and Gladio notices straight away the deferential note in his voice. The gang members not sizing him up are all looking at this man too. 

“Mr. Rose,” comes the reply in a thick accent Gladio can’t readily place. “You made it then.”

“Thanks to you.”

Cade nods, like this is the right—and only—answer. His unsettling blue eyes then rake over Gladio, a smirk playing at his lips. He steps past Arturo to stand in front of Gladio, fractionally too close to be comfortable. He’s a good half a foot smaller, but doesn’t look the least intimidated by Gladio's size or stature.

“Who's this big fella?”

“His name's Gladio. He’s come from Lestallum with six other guys to help shore up our defences against the daemons. The other truck's carried on while we came to drop off your supplies.”

Gladio allows himself to be appraised, whilst noting Arturo gives the exact same explanation to Cade that he gave to the lookout. It’s the truth; they’ve nothing to hide, but it’s obviously vital that there's no opportunity for the gang to imagine they’re being played in any way. Cade's still eyeballing him, but Gladio keeps his eyes on the ground. It’s his appearance, he knows. They might not be scared of him, but he looks like he’s got the potential to cause trouble. It's not his fucking fault he’s so tall.

“So what other treasures did you bring us from Lestallum?”

Arturo takes that as his cue to open up the back of the truck. The door swings noisily to reveal the stacks of crates and boxes, the ones for the Butchers nearest the opening. 

“Managed to get everything on your list, plus I thought this might catch your eye.” Arturo hands Cade a sword which the other man takes and inspects carefully. His eyebrows raise approvingly as he turns it over in his hands.

“Very nice. Boys,” he says turning to two of the nearest men. “Come grab our things; only take the shit Mr. Rose says is ours, y'hear?”

“Yessir,” they say in unison.

Arturo reaches into the truck and grabs a smaller box first, which obviously isn’t heavy. As he brings it out, Gladio catches the scent of... _spices_? A piece of paper falls to the floor and Gladio scoops it up. The handwriting is barely legible but he realises it’s a list of the requested ingredients. He tucks it into the top of the box. “These are the supplies you wanted. You were in luck.”

Those silvered eyebrows raise again. “Even the alstrooms?”

“Even the alstrooms.”

Cade lets out a low whistle, then his face splits into a grin. “By Shiva's pussy, I swear you're too fuckin' good to us, Mr. Rose.”

Arturo smiles back, then flicks a glance at Gladio to start unloading so they can get the fuck out of here quickly. The crates are mainly ammunition, but the gift of the sword has succeeded in stopping the gang from helping themselves to any of the supplies for Solerno. The last box is unloaded just as a cry rings out from somewhere off to his left. The men instantly have their weapons drawn as a scrawny guy, no older than twenty comes haring into camp, his eyes wild.

“She's back! She’s back!” he's yelling, his face full of abject panic as he bee lines toward the boss.

“Calm the fuck down, won’t ya?” Cade snaps, an instruction which is surprisingly successful. Evidently the boy is more scared of Cade than whoever 'she' is. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah,” he says, breathing hard, his eyes still like saucers. “She's starting to materialise!”

“Fuck,” Cade growls, scratching at his wiry beard. For all his tough guy persona, he does seem troubled by this news. “Okay, start grabbin' the guns. Eight of you, come wi' me.”

The camp erupts. 

“What's goin' on?” Gladio asks.

“Melusine,” Cade says to no one in particular. “Fuckin' bitch won’t take the hint. Thank fuck you brought us more bullets.”

Gladio blinks. It’s a name he remembers well. Melusine is a nasty fucking daemon—they took a hunt once not realising just how powerful she was and only just made it out with their lives. For all their efforts, she disappeared as the dawn broke and they came away empty handed. In the balance of things, Ignis deemed it not worth a rematch. What they _did_ come away with was an understanding of her strengths and weaknesses and bullets aren’t going to cut it. 

“No,” Gladio says, grabbing Cade's arm before he can walk away. Surprised, Cade looks back at him and then down to the hand holding his arm. His eyes narrow.

“I dunno what the fuck—”

“I’ve fought her before,” Gladio cuts in. “I can help you.” Before Cade can answer, Gladio turns to Arturo. “Catch up with the other truck and get to the haven. I’ll be fine.”

He evidently sounds serious enough for Arturo to nod and hurry back to the cab. Cade's still presumably trying to work out if Gladio has a complete death wish, but he smiles regardless of whatever conclusion he’s drawn.

“Okay, smart guy. What makes you think you can do better, huh?”

A couple of Cade's men are watching this encounter carefully, curious as to who this man is who has the audacity to manhandle the boss and tell him how to do things.

“It’s not about doing better,” Gladio replies evenly. “It’s about doing it _together_. I could have just hopped in the truck and left you to it, but I don’t wanna see that bitch near anyone, so if I’m gonna help the people in Solerno protect themselves from daemons then I may as well start now.”

After a moment, Cade nods. He might be a mean asshole but he’s not a stupid one. 

“So what’s better than bullets then, O Wise One?”

Gladio ignores the sarcasm. “Blades, and anything that’ll do fire damage.”

Another quick assessment, then Cade turns and hollers at the men preparing to head out. “You heard the man! Pack your fuckin' swords, people.” He turns back and fixes Gladio with a stare. “What about you? You got a sword?”

Unable to resist, Gladio holds out his hand and smiles as the blue shimmer appears and quickly materialises into his great sword. Behind him someone mutters, ' _holy fuck_ '. Cade's obviously not prepared to appear so easily impressed. He rolls his eyes and starts walking to where his men are assembled. 

“Yeah well, how about we see what you can do with it first, huh?”

Gladio ignores the jibe and goes to follow after him. 


	8. Chapter 7

The previous encounter with Melusine gives Gladio an undeniable edge, even though at the time they'd come away pissed about failing to secure the bounty and basically having their asses handed to them, only being saved by the breaking of the dawn. Evidently still freaked by their own previous run-in with the daemon, Cade's men are more than happy to listen to his suggestions for strategy and despite it not being the same as fighting with Ignis and Noct and Prompto, Gladio grudgingly acknowledges that they’re good fighters. It takes a lot of work, but eventually Melusine utters one final shriek of indignant rage and dies.

Breathing hard, weapons still drawn, the assembled men exchange disbelieving glances until one of them breaks the spell with a triumphant whoop. Even Gladio gets caught up in the euphoria, compounded by his being included in the good-natured back slapping. 

“Well, Mr. Swordsman, I guess we owe you our thanks,” Cade says, sheathing his blood-stained sword with a large grin on his face. He offers Gladio an exaggerated bow. “I hope you’ll do us the honour of dining with us tonight to celebrate?”

_Fuck no_ , Gladio thinks, but realistically what choice has he got? He can’t set off for Solerno on foot until the dawn breaks again tomorrow, and ingratiating himself into this group, as repulsive as they may be, will hopefully buy him some goodwill for the people who live beyond the Northern Pass. It gives him a certain amount of satisfaction to imagine himself reporting all this back to Cor, since the marshal is convinced he’s only capable of fucking things up.

“How could I refuse?” he says, plastering on a grin.

The whooping and hollering accompanies them back to camp. Eventually Cade tells them to shut the fuck up and they do, but when they reach camp and the gang members left behind want to know what happened it inevitably starts up all over again. Horseplay and roughhousing follow, borne of too much leftover energy and suddenly Gladio understands why Cade has his own campfire and seating area at a distance from where the rest of the gang is expected to sit. He’s invited to join Cade here and he knows such a small thing needs to be treated as a great honour. Cade does most of the talking and Gladio listens with half an ear, making sure he nods and makes noises of assent in all the right places. 

Despite his reservations about staying, Gladio finds he’s ridiculously hungry all of a sudden especially when a plate is pushed into his hands. He cranes around to see where they’re coming from with the food, but the darkness makes it impossible to see beyond the tents that are set back from this communal space. Turning his attention back to his plate, he marvels at the heaped portions of fluffy rice and mixed vegetables and meat in a dark, aromatic sauce. His stomach growls obligingly, eyes closing momentarily as he inhales.

Because frankly, this is fucking weird. The Butchers are as rough and ready as they come and the wisdom of not judging books by their covers aside, it’s insane that they appear to apply completely different standards to their eating habits. Cade's delight at them bringing Alstrooms, the list of spices.... it adds up to something, but Gladio is damned if he knows what.

He snatches up the fork resting on the side of the plate and digs in. It’s no surprise to discover that the food tastes as good as it looks. The sauce explodes on his tongue, unexpectedly spicy. It reminds him of a recipe Ignis discovered on one of their trips to Galdin Quay. A few mouthfuls in, he realises Cade is watching him.

“So what d'you reckon, huh?” Cade says, grinning proudly and baring those disgusting teeth. “King fuckin' Regis hisself, couldn’ta been fed better!”

Thing is, he’s right. Nowadays, food's right back to basics unless you get lucky enough to cross paths with someone who can really cook and who still has access to herbs and other ingredients to transform plain meat or fish into something that actually excites the tastebuds. Gladio finds himself wondering when he last ate something this tasty and quickly shuts down the thought because it'll almost certainly be something made by Ignis.

“So I bet you wanna know how we get such good shit,” Cade says, stabbing his fork towards Gladio, the motion aggressive, if not intentionally so. “I swear to Bahamut, you won’t fuckin' believe it.”

“Sure,” Gladio says because yeah, he’s curious and Cade's volatile enough to take offence if he doesn’t bite soon. The man's eyes widen, pleased. He whistles and the huddle of men look around with almost military obedience, the cacophonous noise of their chatter ceasing instantly.

“Ash, go fetch our secret weapon. I think our guest should see it for himself.”

Gladio watches as Ash puts his plate on the ground and wipes a grimy sleeve across his mouth. He reaches out for something Gladio can’t see, but when he stands up he has a torch lit by the flames of the campfire. Someone mutters something and kicks out as he passes while the others laugh. Ash curses and gives the man the middle finger, but evidently isn’t foolish enough to keep the boss waiting by retaliating properly. The darkness swallows first him and then the flickering light from his torch as he moves away from the campfire between a break in the tents. 

“We was eatin' scraps,” Cade says, drawing Gladio's attention once more. He shakes his head in disgust. “Like fuckin' pigswill. Then we met our friend. Cooks like it belongs in one of those fancy fuckin' restaurants in _Lestallum_.” He spits out the last word. Gladio doubts Cade and his ilk would ever be welcome in Lestallum and the bitterness is most likely borne of experience. “You know the craziest shit of all though and I swear on the fuckin' Astrals it's true, but it's fuckin' _blind _!”__

__Cade hoots suddenly and slaps his knee. He gestures wildly at the group around the other campfire. “Twelve pairs o'eyes those cunts have got between 'em and they still couldn’t cook somethin' half as good as what it makes! Crazy ain’t it?”_ _

__Gladio hears the words like they’re coming from some place else entirely. It’s too much of a coincidence. Cade's gotta be talking about... No. Gladio rubbishes the idea immediately, aware of the sharp staccato of his heart which begs it to be untrue—Ignis would never fall in with a group like this, no matter how desperate his situation. Not when he had Iris and Talcott and people who actually loved and cared about him elsewhere. Then there's Cade's use of 'it'—a deliberate dehumanising pronoun, which has set off the deafening clang of alarm bells in his head._ _

__He turns sharply at the sound of footsteps, eyes straining against the darkness to see who's approaching. He picks out Ash's booted feet and an irregular, stumbling stride, then suddenly there’s a body sprawled at Cade's feet, Ash, the catalyst for the fall grinning behind it._ _

__“Careful now, you asshole,” Cade admonishes. “Nearly spilled m'dinner.”_ _

__Gladio isn’t sure who Cade's blaming, nor does he care. His body has instantly become a lead weight, his breath escaping shakily. Somehow—fuck knows how—he manages to keep his expression neutral so that his hosts don’t realise the horror he’s concealing._ _

__Because he should have known there are no fucking coincidences. Their blind, meal-preparing secret weapon _is_ Ignis. Or at least someone who once resembled Ignis in a former life, because the crumpled, cowering mess on the floor shares only a few similarities with the man he knew. _No_ , Gladio thinks, that single unvoiced word the only thing he can manage against the maelstrom of powerful emotions. _No_. _ _

__Ignis is a _mess_. His hair, once so strong he styled it to defy gravity is dull and hangs lankly in his face. Sections of it are matted. His glasses are gone. The scars are not as livid as they were the last time Gladio saw him, but no less shocking, the cloudy pupil of his remaining eye still unnaturally blown. The eye itself is wide and moving frantically, trying to see something, _anything_ , but destined only for disappointment. He’s pale—then again who isn’t these days—but his cheekbones protrude, their boundaries marked out sharply beneath the almost translucent skin._ _

__The likelihood is the body beneath the clothes is similarly horrifying, but Ignis is wearing bulky layers that conceal any deterioration. Gladio doesn’t recognise them as anything Ignis owned, nor would ever choose to wear himself and they’re worn and ripped in places, making them even more jarring on the normally impeccably-dressed man. And yet somehow worse than all of it is the smell, so pungent Gladio's stomach almost rebels._ _

__“I know what you’re thinkin',” Cade says and—holy fuck—Gladio had forgotten about the _world_ , let alone that there were other people in it. People, it seems, who could have done this to Ignis. “I see your face! You're thinkin' there's no fuckin' way this _thing_ coulda made that meal, but it's a fuckin' genius with food. Ain’t ya?” Without warning Cade kicks out, his booted foot connecting with Ignis's side. It’s quite a hard kick and obviously Ignis can’t see it coming, but he doesn’t make a sound, bar a sharp, shocked exhale._ _

__“Hey,” Gladio warns, instantly forgetting his neutral observer guise. “Don’t do that.”_ _

__“Yeah?” Cade says, eyes reduced to slits, his voice suddenly low and dangerous. “Wanna tell me why not?”_ _

__A quick glance tells Gladio that Cade's men are all watching this scene with interest. There’s a frisson of eager violence about them at the best of times, so he doesn’t want to give them a reason to unleash it. Not yet, anyway. Not until he knows what the fuck is going on here. And that he can be certain he can get Ignis out safely._ _

__“Because he’s a fuckin' human being, man,” he replies evenly, hands spread in placation. He daren't look at Ignis because it’ll reignite his rage._ _

__Cade snorts, like the suggestion is ridiculous. He frowns, but he’s still smiling._ _

__“It ain’t human, not like you an' I, at any rate.”_ _

__Gladio blinks slowly, ignoring the frankly fucking sick insinuation that he and Cade are in any way alike. Or superior. His pulse is speeding, begging him to give in to the rising urge to do violence. In his peripheral vision, Ignis is trying to reduce himself further. So far there's no indication that he even recognises Gladio's voice. With Ignis here, it’s too dangerous to start anything and so Gladio squelches it all down and instead forces a smile._ _

__“Well, I’ll admit I’m intrigued,” he says, feeling like he could puke despite his expression to the contrary. “How’d you get him?”_ _

__There’s a split second, Cade shrewdly assessing, then he nods and the tension is dispelled. He turns to Ash, still standing watching the encounter, hands dug into his pockets._ _

__“Ash, why don’t you take it back. I wouldn’t like its presence to offend our esteemed guest anymore than it has already.”_ _

__The tone is mocking like Gladio's too soft, but he's not going to take the bait. Instead he watches, jaw clenched, as Ash bends over and hooks a hand under Ignis's arm, hauling him roughly to his feet. Ignis jumps at the touch, which Ash takes as an attempt at resistance judging by the look of displeasure on his face._ _

__“Don’t make me get the strap now,” he warns, giving Ignis a sharp shake. Yet somehow Gladio suspects the sick bastard would quite like it if that happened._ _

__No words are exchanged as Ash leads him away, and Ignis makes no attempt to resist. They disappear again into the inky blackness and it takes everything in Gladio's power to stop himself running after them. He swallows hard, taking a second to compose himself. In the years they’ve been apart, he's pictured their reunion a thousand times, but not a single iteration has ever looked like this nightmare._ _

__“So,” he says, hoping it sounds casual. “Sounds like there’s quite a story.”_ _

__“Yessir.” Cade produces a bottle, moonshine probably, and pours out two cups. Gladio has little choice but to accept the proffered drink, same too for the toast Cade proposes. He'll avoid drinking it if he can; he wants to keep a clear head and the truth is it smells fucking terrible. The scuffing footsteps return and Ash goes to rejoin the other men around the larger fire._ _

__“So yeah,” Cade begins, pulling Gladio from his thoughts about where Ignis is now. “We found him wanderin' through the pass about to be eaten by a pack of saberclaws. Dressed all fancy like with a fuckin' walking stick!” Cade pauses for a drink then laughs to himself like he can still picture it clearly._ _

__“Funniest shit I ever seen! I mean, he clearly weren’t no hunter—not dressed like that. And he was just swingin' around some daggers, tryin' a hit 'em, which is when we realised he was fuckin' blind!” More laughter. “We were gonna leave him there, see how long it took for the saberclaws to put 'im outta his misery, but then we figured with fancy clothes like that he could have some good loot so I said 'let's go help the poor bastard out'._ _

__“He didn’t have much on him, but he had some good fuckin' food supplies, I mean, my boys were salivatin' like fuckin' bloodhounds over it! Kane was about to put a bullet in his head, but I told him to wait; wanted to know where he’d gotten the food. Said he’d made it hisself.” Cade shakes his head at the memory like they’re talking about alchemy rather than cooking. “I told him to prove it and we might not kill him.”_ _

__Cade takes a drink then pulls back his lips in a grimace. Evidently the moonshine tastes as shitty as it smells. “Anyway, the bastard weren’t lyin' and we ate the best damn food we'd had in _years_ , so damn straight we decided to keep him around. First he weren’t so keen; had to keep him chained up for a while 'cause he kept tryin' to escape, but I think eventually he realised there were mutual benefits.” Cade stops abruptly and grins, revealing his disgusting teeth again._ _

__“Mutual benefits?” Gladio asks in a voice that doesn’t feel like his own._ _

__“Yeah, you know. He cooked for us, and we didn’t make him dead!” Cade laughs uproariously at his own joke. “Like I said, he tried to get away or put up a fight sometimes.” Cade swigs more of the moonshine and shrugs. “Stopped pretty quick when I said I'd make him deaf too.”_ _

__Gladio's stomach rebels, horror and anger churning it violently. He swallows hard against the bile rising in his throat, trying to imagine how Ignis must have felt, frightened and alone, already vulnerable and being threatened with the deliberate loss of another vital sense._ _

__From a long way away he hears himself asking, “how long have you had him with you?”_ _

__Any amount of time will be too long. Cade ponders whilst Gladio prays that it’s a best case scenario—like Ignis has been north for a while and got captured trying to get back to Lestallum—even though nothing’s gone that way so far._ _

__“Well, it’s hard to put a number on it,” Cade says, scratching at his wiry beard as he considers the question._ _

__“Weeks?” Gladio offers hopefully, that hope shattering almost instantly at the bark of laughter Cade gives in response._ _

__“Oh, fuck no,” Cade chuckles, “two, maybe three?”_ _

__“ _Months_?”_ _

__“ _Years_ , asshole!”_ _

__And just like that Gladio's world collapses. Years. Ignis has been in this situation for _years_. The cowering shell of the man he’s just seen makes complete sense now. Ignis has been trapped in this hell, at the mercy of Cade and his men for an agonisingly long time. Almost the whole time he’s been missing. A cold, creeping dread steals over him. _ _

__“Can... can I talk to him?” he asks, before he can come up with a good justification for why he'd want to do that. Belatedly he realises one of Cade's men—a short, stocky guy with a shock of blond hair is walking past. He’s close enough when Gladio asks the question, which causes him to snort._ _

__“Yeah, good luck wi'that!”_ _

__Cade shares his amusement in the face of Gladio's questioning gaze. A private joke, not for outsiders like Gladio._ _

__“It don’t speak no more. Hasn’t said a single word in forever, not that it had much to say before that.” The man chuckles. “Still it's good entertainment tryin' to get him to make a sound.”_ _

__No. No. _No_. _ _

__If anything comes after that comment then Gladio honestly doesn’t remember it. He doesn’t even remember if he issued those denials out loud. What he does recall is rising to his feet, summoning his great sword from the Armiger as the white-hot rage descends. It flows through him, activating muscles and flooding his system with adrenaline. Cade is first, simply because he’s nearest. He takes the man's head clean off his shoulders, which understandably spurs the rest of the gang into action, but only after a shocked pause which proves fatal for them and advantageous for Gladio._ _

__He doesn’t get off completely unscathed. One of the men has a switchblade which he’s managed to free as Gladio is dealing with his friends and he gets one good slash across Gladio's chest before he meets the same fate as the others. He definitely gets punched a few times too, which leaves his ears ringing and his vision blurred for a moment. He shakes his head to clear both. None of it manages to stop him or even slow him down though until there’s nothing left to attack._ _

__Bleeding and breathing hard, Gladio stills so he can listen as the last groans fade away. Unless there are lookouts elsewhere, the commotion would have brought any other gang members out, making the only living souls left here Gladio... and Ignis._ _

__Fuck._ _

__Ignoring the warm spill of blood across his chest, Gladio returns his sword to the Armiger and tries to get his bearings. When Ash went to fetch Ignis he disappeared between where he and Cade were sitting, but where he went beyond that is a mystery. He wasn’t gone long though and the mountains rise up not too far behind the line of tents so hopefully Ignis is still close by. Maybe he can get Ignis to come to him._ _

__“Iggy!” he yells through cupped hands. “Iggy, where are you?”_ _

__His shout echoes but, frustratingly, nothing comes back._ _

__“It’s me, Gladio,” he tries again. “You can come out. It’s safe.”_ _

__More silence. Problem is, Ignis can’t see with his own eyes that what Gladio's saying is true and judging by how cowed he was, he might not be inclined to believe it and risk coming out._ _

__“Fuck, Iggy,” Gladio mutters to himself, casting around for some kind of light. The flashlights they used to use, that clipped to their clothing leaving their hands free for combat, are long gone and boy does he miss them. He deliberately avoids looking at the bodies as he moves back to the fire, but it’s worth the trip as he locates a torch. As he waits for it to catch light, his gaze meets the dead staring eyes of the asshole who made the comment about Ignis. He holds it for a moment, mentally wincing at the dark, dark part of himself that wishes he could kill the guy all over again. Once the torch is properly alight, he makes his way deeper into the camp._ _

__Pretty quickly he realises why the darkness was so absolute when Ash went to fetch Ignis._ _

__“Caves,” he says flatly. “Of course.”_ _

__During their travels, they were pretty unanimous in their dislike of hunts or errands that involved going into caves. Gladio can still picture the four of them, Prompto specifically, complaining how he hated caves and, more specifically, the things that could usually be found lurking inside them. His mind then drifts to Noct letting a little time elapse before touching Prompto's hair and making him jump out of his skin, Ignis stifling a smile at the undignified squawk of surprise Prompto let out. Now, it's just Gladio, moving the torch in a sweeping motion, on high alert for danger. And Ignis of course._ _

__The first cave he enters is shallow, but far from empty. Cade and his men evidently used this as a munitions store judging by the piles of weapons and boxes of bullets filling all the available space. There's even an honest to gods _rocket launcher_. Bits of kit Gladio recognises from magitek infantry are stacked on one side; no wonder they’d been so successful staying alive. He heads back out to continue the search._ _

__“Iggy!” The valley echoes his desperation, the breeze carrying nothing but the sounds of daemons prowling in the distance. “Where are you?”_ _

__The mouths of two other caves gape in front of him. He strains hard, listening for something that might give him a clue which one to go in, but there's just more frustrating silence. Making a decision, he puts his torch into the first one and realises that the choice has been made for him as this cave appear to end abruptly, barely ten feet in. He goes into the other, his heart racing at the prospect of finding Ignis soon._ _

__The cave curves right, the low roof torturous for someone of Gladio's height. Bent almost double, he follows the path round and down. His hand follows the wall, the flames of the torch flickering and dancing in front of him. Just as he’s about to acknowledge the protests from his back, the cave suddenly opens up._ _

__“Holy fuck,” he murmurs, because, well, _holy fuck_. This cave is a veritable treasure trove, filled presumably with the spoils of their work robbing and murdering travellers passing through. Mesmerised, Gladio forgets for a minute what he’d come in here for. Reverently he touches some of the items. Jewellery. Books. Clothing. Gadgets. Everything from the mundane through to the sentimental. Stashed here in the darkness, presumably ready for the day that it might become either useful or valuable again. As his hand brushes across some clothing, a pair of glasses slip from the pocket of a jacket and instantly he’s snapped back to what he’s really searching for. Ignis isn’t here. He turns around and hurries back to the entrance, heart sinking as he realises he’s running out of places to look. _ _


	9. Chapter 8

There's one final cave to check in this area concealed by the tents. Stepping inside, it opens out, but this time is filled with provisions. Unlike the weapons store, the supplies are neatly arranged—a clear order to everything that's in here.

Ideal for someone blind.

This is quite clearly Ignis's domain, but he's not here now. With limited options, Gladio considers the cave he initially overlooked. The light from the torch had picked out bare stone but admittedly he’d not given it a thorough sweep. Ignis has to be here somewhere. He walks in, five feet, then ten, his hand coming to meet the cool stone where the tunnel appears to end. As his hand drops away, hope plummeting with it, the solid surface ends abruptly. Frowning, he crouches down and realises there's a hole, easily missed, barely big enough for someone to crawl through. But not impossible.

“Iggy?” he calls. 

Beyond the hole there’s a noise, a quick rustle of clothing, then nothing. Gladio lets out a breath, simultaneously elated and terrified at what he might find. 

“Iggy? That you back there?”

_It don’t speak no more_ , he hears Cade saying. Surely Iggy will speak when he knows it’s Gladio, and that he's safe? Heart pounding, Gladio holds the torch as close to the hole as he can, weighing up the likelihood of being able to squeeze through himself. The light shows him another wall, only six feet or so away, making the space beyond the wall little more than a nook. Ignis surely can’t be in here. The noise was probably just a creature and he’s just so fucking desperate to find Ignis his mind will convince him of anything. And yet still—

“Iggy, I’m here to help you,” he calls out, refusing to believe this is both an actual and metaphorical dead end. 

The sound of movement—of a living thing reacting to his voice—comes again. He considers the gap, reluctantly accepting that trying to crawl through himself would be too risky. But if it’s really Ignis in there it’s clear he’s not going to be coaxed out. Sighing wearily, he rests on his haunches for a moment, considering his next steps. His chest stings like fuck. The blood is now clotting around the wound and could probably do with some attention. Not to mention the rest of his body which is demanding he move somewhere he can stand up properly. He thinks of what he witnessed when they brought Ignis out, how malleable and obedient he was. An idea forms, which he instantly hates, but the more he thinks about it, the more it seems like the only way to generate a reaction. He sighs again, followed by a mental prayer for clemency for what he’s about to do.

“Hey!” he growls loudly, hand slapping against the stone for good measure, feeling like a prize asshole as he does it. “You're needed, so get your fuckin' ass out here now! You know what’ll happen to you if you don’t.”

All at once, the shuffling, rustling noise is back. Gladio moves away from the hole in time for a pair of hands to appear, followed by the head and shoulders of the man he's been looking for. It’s a tight squeeze even for someone of Ignis's slim build, confirming to Gladio that he was right to not attempt to climb through himself. He’s obviously well-practised though, because barely five seconds later he’s through the gap and cowering at Gladio's feet. _Gods, Iggy..._

Gladio swallows hard. He should be ecstatic—this has been his sole obsession for the last few years—but all he feels is overwhelming sadness and fear that what he’s found seems to be Ignis in appearance only.

“Hey,” he says gently, his skin crawling at the fact that Ignis is shaking and he's responsible. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t know how else to get you to come out.” The words spill out in a rush. “Cade... Cade and those other assholes are dead. They can’t hurt you again. I’m gettin' you outta here, okay?”

Ignis flinches as Gladio touches his arm, but he doesn’t pull away. Evidently he’s used to being manhandled, a fact that agitates the embers of Gladio’s rage, not that they’d ever really gone out to begin with. 

“Come on, Iggy. We're leaving. I dunno if I got all of them so we need to go in case anyone's coming back.”

Gladio’s not expecting the violent reaction that he gets in response. Ignis makes a noise deep in his throat, a wounded sound that accompanies a physical retreat into himself, arms hooked over his head as he crouches in a ball. Gladio tries to touch him again, but this time Ignis does pull back, breathing hard, almost hyperventilating, his distress growing by the second. Gladio can only watch in dismay. He’s rescuing him for fuck's sake. This isn’t supposed to happen.

“Iggy, calm down, it’s okay.” Gladio doesn’t want to touch him again but it's not like Ignis can see he’s not a threat. “Please, you're gonna hurt yourself.”

It’s no good. Ignis can hear him but he isn’t listening and at this rate they’re never gonna get out of here. Making another decision he reflexively hates, Gladio places the torch on the ground and grabs Ignis to put him in a sleeper hold. Ignis struggles, but offers pathetically little resistance as Gladio counts out ten seconds, then releases the pressure as Ignis goes limp in his arms.

In the flickering glow of the flames, he studies Ignis's face, still beautiful despite the changes wrought on it over the years. Tenderly he brushes the matted hair out of the way, acknowledging the furious ache in his own heart. His breath catches in his throat as his eyes burn. _I let you down, Iggy. I’m so fucking sorry._

He wants to sit and mourn, but the reality is Ignis might not be out for long so he needs to get them out of here soon. Cycling through their limited options, he remembers seeing signs of a haven near the entrance to the Northern Pass. They could camp there, safe from monsters and marauders alike; they just have to get there. It’s probably a safer option than trying to carry onto Solerno when he doesn’t know where the settlement actually is. Carefully he arranges Ignis in his arms—gods, he weighs _nothing_ —then reaches down for the still burning torch. They need to get away from here as quickly as possible. 

Later he’ll still not be able to work out what possesses him to put Ignis back down for a moment, but he does. He then takes the torch and shines it back through the hole, realising that his instincts were depressingly correct. The space that would surely make a prison cell look generous contains a bedroll beside which sits a canteen of water and a small toiletries bag. _They kept him here_ , Gladio thinks, hot angry tears stinging his eyes again. _For years they kept him here like a fucking dog._

He's about to pull back when he notices something else beside the canteen and the bag. Frowning, it takes him a moment to realise what he's seen, but he knows he’s not mistaken from the way his heart seems to constrict painfully in his chest. A quick glance back at Ignis's unconscious form, then he sits down so he can put his head and one arm through the hole, groping in the darkness until his hand lands on the familiar item. It's Ignis's book; the one he kept notes and sketches in as well as every recipe he discovered or invented on their travels. The cover was textured leather with gilt edges. Now some of the edging is missing and, curiously, the textured surface has been worn smooth in an arc shape across the front cover.

He quickly tucks it in his pocket before grabbing the other two items, furious that Ignis's possessions can be carried in one hand when so much lies unused in the cave next door. With a steady, centring breath, he scoops Ignis and the torch up again and makes his way back outside.

Right, what next? The urge to flee must wait a moment. Practicalities. He doesn’t want to leave without grabbing some of the camp's supplies first, especially since his own bag is in Arturo's truck. It's the least they can fucking do, frankly. Shame the assholes couldn’t have made things easier by having a car or a truck to hand.

His first port of call is the treasure trove in the cave next door. A weight is lifted from his shoulders when in it, he located a couple of strong duffels, one of which contains a small travel tent. He considers the shelter for a moment before deciding to keep it. It doesn’t weigh much and could come in handy now he has Ignis to care for, too. Satisfied with his haul, he takes it—and Ignis—back outside.

The air is still, save the occasional sound of beasts in the distance. Time to quickly rifle through the tents. He deposits Ignis near the campfire he and Cade were seated at, although he’s careful to ensure that it’s well away from the headless body of the man responsible for brutalising him over the last few years. It’s almost a relief that even if Ignis wakes, he won’t be able to see it, but he’d rather they were out of here first.

He stuffs his bags with whatever he can find. He'd like longer, to consider what he’s selecting more carefully, but they haven’t got the luxury of time. His eyes flick over to Ignis constantly, anxious that he'll wake and run off into the darkness because if that happens they’ve got bigger problems. Maybe they’ll be able to come back this way to pick up more when Ignis is calmer, but the likelihood is without the gang to hold off the daemons, this whole area and this camp will be swiftly picked apart.

He zips up the bags and tests their weight. Fortunately the straps are strong and it's a bearable load once it’s on his back, leaving his arms free to pick up Ignis. The warmth of the man's body in his arms steals his breath for a moment. Ignis is alive. Ignis is _here_ and free from whatever hell he’s known for the last few years. Gladio pictures them together at the haven, a scene where he’s holding Ignis and reassuring him that it's over and they'll weep together and Ignis will seek solace in his arms and everything they've both lived through too will finally be worth it. He uses that image to motivate himself.

It takes him a moment to get his bearings in the darkness. If only he knew how much further the haven Arturo mentioned was to the north. Or Solerno, or any of the other settlements up there. For all he knows the town could be a couple of miles away, yet without knowing its exact location, they could overshoot it and end up wandering aimlessly and with Ignis as he is, it’s just too much of a risk. At least going south will take them out of the pass and to the haven they passed on the way here. If they stick to the road, they can move quicker. Naturally he dislikes the fact that they’ll be out in the open, but the easier terrain will enable them to move faster, hopefully attracting the attention of fewer daemons and reducing the number of times he’ll have to fight and protect Ignis at the same time.

“Okay,” he says to himself in a one-man pep talk. “Let’s get outta here.”

It’s a wrench to leave the heat and light of the campfires. Gladio doesn’t want to risk taking a torch with them—not that he’s now got any free hands anyway—so he picks his way across the rocky ground, on high alert for daemons as they go. Ignis never stirs, but the muscles in Gladio's arms tremble at the exertion and the bags on his back seem to grow heavier with every step. He's been walking for almost two hours before he’s forced to stop. He lays Ignis down carefully and gasps at the relief his body feels. In the distance saberclaws and havocfangs howl, their voices echoing through the mountains. Ironically they’ve got the Butchers to thank for making it this far without encountering any threats. They’ve no choice but to get moving again.

For the first time in what feels like forever though, the Astrals are on his side. At one point he sees the glow of some Cryonades but none of them float close enough to be a threat, which mean he doesn’t have to stop or put Ignis down and eventually a different, more welcome glow appears on the darkened horizon. As the mountains finally fall away behind them, the darkness seems less absolute. In the opposite direction to the haven, it’s possible to make out the hulking mass of an iron giant and Gladio thanks the Six that they don’t have to go that way. 

The haven draws him in. His footsteps quicken even though he cautions himself not to rush. Sweat runs freely down his face as he allows himself to experience the exhilaration and relief that they’ve made it. When his foot mounts the stone, it takes almost everything in him not to collapse right there and weep. Instead, he sets Ignis down gently and then shucks the bags of provisions onto the ground behind him.

Apropos of nothing he thinks of Prompto and suddenly he wishes the other man was here to help, bringing with him his innate positivity. And yet there’s a selfish part of him that’s glad he isn’t. Ignis is traumatised; best that he doesn’t have to deal with too many people at once. 

Gladio sets about lighting a fire. As soon as it's lit, it attracts the attention of daemons, but they don't risk venturing close because of the haven's protections and they eventually get bored and wander away again. Next he gets out their bedrolls, his eyes flicking constantly to Ignis. When that’s done and Ignis is still out of it, he starts to prepare a meal. He can talk to Ignis over food, give him however much reassurance he needs to convince him that he's safe and that he needn't fear Cade and his gang any more.

The activity quiets the clamour in his mind. Focus on the practical. Ignore the speculation, the what ifs, the maybes. Given the fact that Ignis is so changed from the man he knew, the road ahead could be a difficult one. Best not to spiral to the conclusion that it might be impassable. 

The meal is almost ready when he notices that Ignis is starting to stir. This is it—the moment of truth—and for all that he’s been willing Ignis to wake, a part of him likes unconsciousness better because dealing with Ignis's physical body is definitely more in his wheelhouse. Ignis is— _was_ —the words man. With one last check on the meat cooking on the fire, he eases his way over to where Ignis is lying covered by a blanket and waits.

Eventually a shift occurs and Ignis is suddenly more awake than asleep. This creates a debate about how to approach the situation, which Gladio realises he should have had sooner. For not the first time he curses Ignis's lack of sight, without which the job is undoubtedly harder.

“Hey,” he says gently, but when Ignis's breathing starts to escalating towards panic, he's forced to revert to that firmer tone because Ignis looks as if he’s preparing to run. “Stop, you hear me?”

It might not be the way he wants to approach things but it has the desired effect, leading Ignis to a more familiar muted terror. Cowed. Waiting to be beaten. The bile rises in Gladio's throat, forcing him to look away. Eventually Ignis moves to sit up, but he no longer looks as if he’s about to bolt, thank fuck. 

“Here, drink,” he commands, pushing a canteen of water into Ignis's hands. There’s a flicker of hesitation before Ignis brings the bottle to his lips and takes a couple of mouthfuls. 

“You can have more.”

Hesitation again. “Seriously. If you’re thirsty, drink it.”

The sentence is barely complete before Ignis raises the canteen again and this time he drinks greedily, the water spilling from the sides of his mouth in his haste. Reflexively Gladio looks away, ashamed of the disgust he feels. Ignis was always so carefully put together. Even in his darkest days in Altissia, he’d refused to let any of his fastidious habits go, like they were a barometer for how well he was coping, at least for maintaining appearances. This Ignis however has had his humanity ripped from him and looking at him is as painful as staring into the sun.

Ignis finally lowers the canteen and wipes a hand across his mouth. Even with a bit of distance between them Gladio can see that his hands are shaking. He studies Ignis's movements. Everything seems unnatural. He cants his head, listening presumably, and Gladio mentally cycles through what he should say next, everything sounding too dumb or too flippant. 

“Are you hungry?” he eventually asks, mentally wincing how he gravitates to the physical. “I’ve cooked some meat; should be just about ready.”

It’s unnerving to get no reply. Even a nod or a movement would be _something_ Gladio could interpret as a response, but he doesn’t even get that. Giving up, he goes and plates up two portions of the bulette meat. It smells great, even though it's only seasoned with a little salt; a far cry from the feasts Ignis used to prepare for them. Belatedly Gladio realises he's actually hungry, his stomach growling in protest even though it’s not that long since he was eating at the camp. Eating _Ignis's_ cooking.

“It ain’t quite to your standards,” he says apologetically, approaching Ignis with the plates. “But it’s fresh, and it’s nutritious so eat up.”

Ignis flinches hard at the touch on his arm, but he accepts the plate meekly just as he did the canteen of water. His hand seeks out the meat and, like the water, once it’s in his possession it’s consumed with terrifying haste.

“Slow down,” Gladio cautions, horrified.

Again the unnatural twitching movements. Ignis shrinks, like punishment is not far behind the reprimand. How the fuck has he survived like this for the last few years?

“I just meant I didn’t want you to choke.”

The fear doesn’t leave, but after a moment Ignis picks up the hunk of meat again and resumes eating. The rate is slower—he’s been told to, after all—but it's obvious how much of a challenge it is to not just jam it into his mouth in one go. _He’s starving_ , Gladio thinks. _He cooks for them but they don't let him eat_. Rage bubbles again, his own meat now affected by the acidity of his fury. He eats mechanically, barely tasting it as his eyes remain glued to the man across from him. 

When his meal is gone, Ignis reaches up and combs his matted hair back from his face, his fingers still greasy from the meat. They catch in the tangles but he doesn’t seem to notice. Gladio winces. Memories of them lying in bed together, of running his fingers through the soft strands, marvelling at the natural honeyed tones, are like a physical assault.

Swallowing hard he looks away for a moment. The compulsion to fall at Ignis's feet and beg his forgiveness is almost overwhelming. _I did this. He's like this because of me._

His eyes are drawn again to Ignis's hands. They’re scarred and calloused looking, and the nails are filthy—not out of the ordinary in an existence without hot running water and other luxuries—but on Ignis they just look _wrong_. As well as the scar left by the Ring of the Lucii, the end of Ignis's ring finger on his left hand is missing. There are stories in these injuries, the kind that stay with you long after they’ve been told because the content is so horrific. Looking away, he rubs at his chest willing the tightness to go away. 

“Are you still hungry?” he asks, at a loss for what else to say. “There’s no more meat, but I’ve got some jerky and dried berries you can have.”

After a moment Ignis shakes his head. The movement is almost imperceptible, like anything more forceful might land him in trouble. _Gods, I wish he'd speak._

“Okay, well, we're gonna get our heads down here and then we're gonna start heading back to Lestallum tomorrow.” Out of the large duffel he grabs a blanket and takes it across to where Ignis is sitting. “You ain’t gonna try and leave are you? We're at a haven south of where I found you so I don’t want you wanderin' off back in the mountains.”

This time there's no answer, silent or otherwise. He pushes the blanket into Ignis's hands and deliberately backs away again because no matter how much he wants to pretend he hasn’t noticed, it’s painfully clear how Ignis tenses up whenever he comes near. He also tries to ignore how small and pathetic Ignis looks as he worries the edge of the blanket like a child. Like this isn't torturous enough, his mind supplies memories of Ignis, still only a teenager, in council meetings, commanding the room with his fierce intelligence and complete confidence. 

Then later on, after they left Insomnia, how Ignis would straight up walk into places he didn’t belong and get them what they needed, whether it was accommodation or support from allies in provinces sympathetic to Lucis's situation. It’s almost impossible to believe that this cowering, beaten shell housed such self-possession.

Pushing the thoughts away, he sits back down on the other side of the fire where he's set up his own bedroll. As he does, something digs into his thigh and he realises it’s Ignis's notebook. 

“Oh hey,” he says, standing back up and retrieving the item from his pocket as he heads back toward Ignis. “Forgot I picked this up for you.” 

Crouching down, Gladio gently takes hold of Ignis's hand and turns it palm upwards. This close he can see that Ignis's finger has been severed cleanly at the third knuckle, the injury evidently an old one judging by the colour of the scar tissue. Into the hand he places Ignis's notebook. There’s an audible gasp. His eyes flick up to Ignis's face in time to see his features soften and Gladio's heart breaks at how obviously important this small, seemingly insignificant item is to him. Ignis transfers the book to his right hand and suddenly the reason for the arc-shape wearing away of the leather becomes obvious as his thumb starts to rub back and forth across the front cover. _Astrals..._

Instinctively Gladio wants to tell him to stop, that it’s too painful to watch, but how can he deny anything that gives him some measure of comfort? Instead, he encourages Ignis to lie back down and covers him again with the blanket. The notebook remains close to his chest, his thumb moving ceaselessly against its surface.

“Get some sleep, Iggy,” Gladio says softly. “You’re safe, I promise. I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you ever again.”

Gladio doesn’t sleep. The haven will keep them safe from daemons, but he can’t say the same about other humans. He doesn’t know how many Butchers there were, but even one still alive and angry poses a threat if they’re both fast asleep. In the end he dozes fitfully when his body can’t sustain wakefulness any longer, but he jerks upright at every noise, both real and imagined. At one point he sits up, pulling in lungfuls of air, belatedly realising that seeing Ignis stepping down off the haven and wandering into the path of a yojimbo was just a dream.

On the other side of the campfire Ignis is still huddled under the blanket. Gladio allows his eyes to feast on the sight while his heart eases into a less frenetic rhythm. Ignis is here. Damaged undoubtedly, but _here_. The years of darkness have taken their toll on all of them, but none more so than Ignis. Although he can hardly bear to think about Cade and his gang, Gladio finds himself sifting back through the information they provided. Ignis hasn’t spoken for years. How long has it been then since he could endure their abuse no longer and simply retreated into himself?

Then there are the practicalities. How the fuck will Ignis cope being back in Lestallum? The town was already overcrowded when he was there last—almost three years later things are worse rather than better. In this perpetual state of terror, surely it will be too much for him. But the flip side of that is he needs somewhere that he can keep Ignis safe so that he can start to heal. Ignis needs a roof over his head that’s not a fucking hole in a cave wall and a bed that's not a roll on the cold, hard ground. He needs to be able to eat, regularly, to regain his strength. 

Lestallum it is then.


	10. Chapter 9

They need to continue south, towards the Vesperpool. Maybe they’ll get lucky and find a house with a vehicle they can take, even though that didn’t exactly work out for him and Prompto when they left Cape Caem. Would Ignis cope with a ride if someone was kind enough to stop for them? All he can see are problems, then solutions, then problems caused by those solutions. But they can’t stay around here. That much is obvious.

Gladio stretches and then starts to move around, hoping the noise will encourage Ignis to wake too. He stands and shakes off his bedroll, glancing over periodically to see if it’s having any effect. Nothing. With a frown, he starts on breakfast, rummaging in the duffel to find something appropriate. Each task he performs with increased exaggeration, hoping for a response but getting none. Eventually he crosses the camp to stand next to Ignis, needing to know that he’s actually still breathing. The blanket rises and falls steadily, making Gladio feel stupid for even doubting himself.

Then he remembers Ignis eating last night, ravenous and undignified, and it starts to make sense. The Butchers kept him starved and beaten, too broken in spirit to try and escape and unlikely to have the strength to do it anyway. His body is in shutdown. No wonder he’s sleeping so deeply. 

With a sigh, Gladio accepts that he's going to have to intervene yet again. Leaving Ignis a little longer, he brews some coffee and sets about preparing some oats. Only when it’s all ready does he return to the sleeping figure and crouches down in front of him again. He reaches out, hesitates, then gives Ignis's shoulder a gentle shake.

“Wake up, Iggy. It’s time we get some breakfast in you.”

Beneath his hand the muscles tense. Ignis inhales sharply in that too-familiar precursor to panic and Gladio finds himself applying some resistance to keep Ignis from bolting. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It's me, Gladio. Remember I told you you were safe? You can relax, Iggy. It's okay, honestly.”

After a few more moments the pressure eases and Gladio figures it's safe to remove his hand. Ignis doesn’t instantly spring up and his breathing has slowed, which is progress of a fashion. He’s now shifted into that state where he's frozen, listening for potential danger, still with the notebook clutched in his right hand. He reminds Gladio of those creatures that play dead to evade predators who prefer to capture their prey alive. The behaviour is troubling. Gladio knows he’s got a distinctive voice and yet Ignis still isn’t showing any signs that he recognises him or feels safe in his presence. _Give him time_ , he tells himself. He steps away momentarily and returns with some coffee. 

“Here,” he says, taking Ignis's free hand and drawing him into a sitting position. He deposits the cup in his hand, reflexively looking away at the sight of that stub of Ignis's ring finger which doesn’t curl quite as far around the tin mug as the others. “It ain’t Ebony, but it's still coffee. Just.”

This time he doesn’t actually have to command Ignis to drink, but his movements are still unsure. Gladio wonders how many things were done to him where it turned out to be a trap, allowing the Butchers to either ridicule or beat him when he fell for it. He lets Ignis drink for a while before he takes him the food. 

“Sorry it’s not much. There are some oats and a bread roll and an orange. Hopefully I’ll be able to hunt or fish for something better as we go.”

The more Gladio thinks about it, the more he realises having to travel back to Lestallum on foot might not be a totally bad thing. Once they reach the familiar territory of the Vesperpool he can plot their journey back using havens as rest points, where the likelihood is they’ll cross paths with very few people. The solitude will give Ignis time to readjust to his position as a free man. They’ll need to take it slowly though; Ignis clearly doesn’t have the physical condition to be able to walk for miles at a time. 

While Ignis eats, Gladio packs up their things. Instinctively he wants to talk, just to break the silence as he works, but whenever he opens his mouth Ignis tenses up and stops eating.

Eventually he takes the hint and gets on with refilling the duffels. Unsurprisingly Ignis eats everything that’s put in front of him. Gladio's tempted to find some more things to give him now but they need to pace themselves and too much too quickly might do more harm than good. What he does do is set an alarm on his watch for two hours from now so he can give Ignis a snack and make sure he eats at regular intervals.

“Okay,” he says once camp is cleared and Ignis is done with breakfast. “It’s time for us to get moving.” He scans the horizon, across the wastes and south. They need to make it to the haven at the Vesperpool by nightfall, which is going to be a challenge. 

“Let's go.”

Gladio shoulders all of the bags, figuring whatever he’s carrying it’s still less than having to lug them all plus an unconscious Ignis, like he had done last night. When he’s got everything settled on his person, he looks around to find Ignis standing awkwardly, his notebook now back in his right hand. A closer inspection simply confirms Gladio’s suspicion that his thumb will be moving relentlessly back and forth across its cover. It’s irrational to be annoyed by it but he finds himself clenching his jaw.

“Why don’t you put it in your pocket, huh? You don’t wanna lose it do you?”

To his relief, Ignis does as suggested. Gladio steps towards him, ignoring the way Ignis stiffens when he gets close. Given his blindness and lack of cane, he’s just gonna have to get used to it for now.

“Okay, d’you wanna hold onto my arm like we used to do back in Altissia? In some places you’ll be fine walking on your own, but it’s quite rocky around here and I don’t want you to fall.” 

When Ignis doesn’t move, Gladio bites down on a sigh. It’s not exactly like Ignis is fighting him on things, but it still makes everything more difficult when his passivity results in the same response.

“Remember I promised you, Iggy? I’m not gonna let anyone or anything hurt you, but I need you to work with me so I can keep you safe. I wanna make sure we're at the next haven before it gets dark again, but if we don’t move fast enough then that’s not gonna happen.” He reaches down and takes Ignis's hand, the touch on it gentle but firm enough to let him know that this part isn’t optional. Gladio settles it into the crook of his arm and tries again.

“Right, let’s go.”

OoOoO

Hours later, Gladio's firmly of the opinion that if he never has to walk anywhere again it will be a very good thing. The terrain is mostly flat and the weather clement, which he knows he should be thankful for. But it’s difficult to feel buoyant beneath the dull grey skies, with Ignis radiating anxiety beside him. Gladio makes him eat regularly and they take breaks when Ignis's steps start to slow and falter. The last time they stopped Ignis actually fell asleep, confirming to Gladio that the once strong and fit man is physically compromised.

The silence is the worst, however. There’s so much they need to say, yet their conversations are completely one-sided and reduced to the banality of mindless small talk or practical details about the landscape. It begs the question of how Ignis communicated with the Butchers, because there must have been occasions where he _had_ to. No doubt they tried to make him, when his silence inconvenienced them. And yet his silence was the one thing that had held. Gladio wonders if he should be impressed by that but knows realistically that Ignis's enduring muteness is down to trauma rather than determination to retain some control over his situation. 

With a jolt, Gladio realises that the scratchy handwriting on the list of ingredients must have belonged to Ignis. Next time they stop, he'll dig out some paper and a pen and the realisation that Ignis could be a more active participant is a much-needed boost to his spirits. It also lets him give himself a mental shake—Ignis is alive and safe, and that’s a fucking miracle. _Take the wins_ , Drautos used to tell him when his own father had made him feel like he’d failed. And then Drautos had turned out to be a big fucking traitor, putting yet another dent in his faith in humanity. 

The other big challenge comes whenever it’s necessary to fight. As much as possible Gladio steers clear of any creatures in their path, but taking a circuitous route every time means not reaching the Vesperpool as quickly and tiring Ignis out more, so every encounter must be judged on its individual merits. When a skirmish is inevitable, he leaves Ignis and their bags a safe distance away, although not without arming Ignis first. There isn’t time to determine if Ignis can still summon his weapons from the armiger—they can worry about that later—so he’s left with a short sword and the explicit instruction to defend himself if necessary. It’s a wrench to walk away from him when he’s visibly shaking.

Fortunately there’s nothing Gladio can’t handle and eventually they reach terrain that looks familiar, the barren landscapes of the wastes giving way to the lush green forests of the Vesperpool. Confident they'll get to the haven before the daemons start to materialise, Gladio takes the time to harvest some meat from the cockatrice he kills. Hopefully once they’re set up at the haven they’ll be able to fish too. 

When the haven comes into view, Gladio’s reached a decision. There's no rush for them to move on. They’re heading back into civilisation and there’s a massive question mark over whether Ignis is ready for that yet. Why not stay at the Vesperpool for a few days at least? It’ll give him chance to get the lay of the land as far as what Ignis can and can’t tolerate before they get back to Lestallum. Hopefully no one else will need the haven's protections while they’re there.

He directs Ignis to sit on a rock while he goes to unpack the tent he found in the stash at the Butcher camp. Normally he wouldn’t bother erecting it, but over the last couple of hours rain has definitely been threatening. As expected, it's only small, but it might make things slightly more comfortable if they’re going to stay more than one night. 

As he starts on the campfire, his attention is caught by Ignis who's basically asleep sitting up. It reminds Gladio of being aboard the royal vessel on their way to Altissia. Ignis wasn’t sleeping great at that point with the weight of Noct's world on his shoulders. When they anchored up so Noct could for fish for a few hours, the gentle rocking motion of the boat had been too great for even Ignis's legendary willpower and they’d found him, arms folded, asleep where he sat. Every so often his centre of gravity would shift too far and he'd jerk awake, furiously poking his glasses back up his nose and glancing around to check if he'd been caught. 

Of course Gladio had tried to make him go lie down, but Ignis wouldn’t hear of it. Eventually, Gladio had sat down next to him, his shoulder providing a sturdy point of support. Exhausted, Ignis had been unaware of what he was doing otherwise he’d never have allowed the closeness in front of the others. Noct however had thanked him for enabling Ignis to finally get some rest. 

Now, he fetches Ignis's bed roll and lays it out not far from where he's sitting. With gentle encouragement and an even gentler touch he gets Ignis to lay down and he's back asleep within minutes. 

Studying the frail figure that he covers with a blanket, Gladio's breath catches in his throat at the rush of love and protectiveness. A couple of times he’s found himself thinking about Solerno and the mess he's left behind there, but any guilt is quickly washed away when he looks at Ignis. He couldn’t have left Ignis and come back. His physical condition is so poor; one injury or bout of illness could have been unsurvivable. No, he did the right thing, the _only_ thing.

Spurred on by that thought, he sets about cooking some of the cockatrice meat so that Ignis can eat heartily when he wakes up. He has some more saxham rice and some carrots and onions. It’s not going to win any awards for inventiveness, but it’s healthy, solid fare and the best he can do with such limited options. As he watches the meat cook, his eyes stray towards the fishing spot they frequented in better times. Maybe tomorrow they can head down there. 

Eventually the food is ready and he decides it’s time to wake Ignis up. Just like the last time, Ignis doesn’t rouse easily, but once he is up Gladio's anxiety is quieted a little at the sight of him digging into the food, especially because the pace of consumption isn’t quite as frenetic. Gladio watches how Ignis uses his left hand as a barrier to push the food against and onto his fork, preventing him from knocking any of it off the sides. When they parted in Cartanica, Ignis was still figuring out how to be blind. Years later, it’s inevitable he'll have found his way around some of the challenges. If only he could have done it in more hospitable circumstances. 

When they’re both done eating, Gladio takes his plate and puts it to one side.

“Oh hey,” he says, remembering an earlier thought and going back to his duffel. “I found this pad for you; thought it might be useful if you’ve got anything you want to say.” He sets the small ring bound pad in Ignis's hand, with a pen pushed through the metal spirals. He tries not to be disappointed when Ignis just holds it there. Instead he picks up his one-sided conversation.

“So we're gonna head back to Lestallum, right? I’ve got a small apartment that I share with Prompto, but he spends a lot of time organising things over in Hammerhead so we should be okay for space. Iris is doin' really well; she seems to have a flare for business if you can believe it.” Gladio chuckles and shakes his head. “They all miss you though. I can’t wait to see their faces when they know you’re back. But only when you’re ready, y'know? Everything's gonna go at your pace, Iggy, okay?”

Gladio stops and silence creates that chasm between them once again. They were so comfortable with quiet in the past. With roles as busy as theirs, the chance to just stop and sit was a luxury that they never took for granted. Gladio bites his lip and looks away. How he’d love to take Ignis in his arms and just sit, murmuring gentle words of encouragement and reassurance into his ear. But given how Ignis recoils from almost all physical contact unless it’s demanded of him, Gladio knows his own wishes will have to wait.

“Anyway, I’ve pitched the tent because it looks like it’s gonna rain. It’s only a small one so you're gonna have it and I’m gonna sleep just outside, like a guard dog I guess.” He chuckles, praying that Ignis might crack a smile or do _something_. But no. He remains that beautiful wounded statue. It's not even clear if he's listening. Gladio tries again.

“Remember when we came here, the time Noct caught that damned fish? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him grin as hard. Proves he can concentrate, huh? And I know you would have liked to have cooked it, even though you told him to throw it back. Damn, I bet you coulda made some good meals out of it.” Gladio shakes his head and laughs to himself. 

“Hey, and d'you remember, Prompto pulled that prank on Noct when he told him he'd accidentally deleted the photo? The only proof he’d ever caught _The Liege of the Lake_. Noct was pissed at him for _days_.”

Still nothing. Gladio squelches his disappointment. In the distance he catches the glow of thunder bombs. All at once he feels exhausted—not surprising really given how far they’ve walked today.

“Let's get you to bed, huh?”

Ignis allows himself to be led to the tent. Once there Gladio gives him space to feel his way inside. He’s already set out Ignis's bed roll and he watches as Ignis climbs onto it and curls tightly into a ball. He imagines Ignis spending years inside that cave, expected to stay in that tiny space whenever he wasn’t needed. Alone and afraid. A lump forms in Gladio’s throat. 

“G'night, Iggy,” he says hoarsely, letting the canvas drop and returning to his seat by the fire. He should try and sleep too, but his mind feels too active. When the fire's down to embers he forces himself to lie down. He’s asleep by the time the rains eventually come.

OoOoO

In the morning Gladio feels creaking and old. The fact that it’s only a few years since he was dragging a sleepy and reluctant Noct from his bed to go fishing at the break of dawn feels crazy. Where the fuck did he find that energy? Doesn’t help that he’s soaked through. Fortunately the day feels like it’s going to be a warm one so hopefully things should dry out quickly. He rolls onto his back and groans.

Ignis.

Remembering he’s not alone, he sits up quickly, panic flooding his system. Unnecessarily it turns out, since Ignis is still inside the tent where Gladio left him last night. Gladio takes a breath and stretches, wincing at the pop and crunch of various body parts.

“Gettin' old, Gladio,” he mutters to himself, before stretching some more. Despite the warmth and the tranquility of the Vesperpool at dawn, he feels too burdened to appreciate its beauty. Childishly he wants it all to be nothing more than a bad dream, where if he screws his eyes up tight enough and opens them again, Ignis will step out of the tent and make enquiries about what he could make them for breakfast, whilst throwing Gladio a look that says exactly what _he’d_ like to be enjoying right now. 

_If he had just come to Gralea_ , Gladio thinks, setting off that interminable regret, even though it’s as stupid and pointless as the first time he thought it. Of course there are things he would do differently, but denying Ignis the right to get himself killed would never be one of them.

He scuffs a hand across his beard. No sense in sitting here brooding about shit he can’t change. He'll sort them out with some breakfast, then wake Ignis and after they’ve eaten, they can go down to the water's edge to wash. Having a plan makes him feel a little better so he gets to work. Breakfast consists of the last of the oats, some canned fruit and some herbal tea; it’s not great, but it's reasonably healthy. Instinctively he wants to keep stuffing food in Ignis, to fill out the hollows in his cheeks and the scrawniness of his arms and yet something in the back of his mind, like a fact he maybe read somewhere once, counsels caution, like trying to feed him too much too quickly could be as dangerous as nothing at all.

Once it's all ready he lifts back the canvas again. Ignis is still lying in the foetal position, his back to the opening. Gladio considers reaching out and touching him, but his outstretched fingers curl closed, and he clears his throat instead.

“Hey, Iggy,” he says softly. “Time to wake up.”

The huddled shape moves slightly—the only indication that there’s a living thing beneath the blankets. 

“I made breakfast. I’m pretty sure you’re ready to eat, huh? Come on.”

Slowly, Ignis moves. Gladio wonders if he remembers where they are or if his mind is fogged; a symptom maybe of his poor physical condition. He debates whether to help or not, furious with himself that even the simplest of things feel impossible to make a decision about. Eventually Ignis sits up, his remaining eye open and moving as if it can see. 

“Good mornin'.” Gladio smiles, hoping Ignis can hear it in his voice. “The skies have cleared so as soon as we’re done eatin' we can go get cleaned up. I thought maybe we could do some fishing, stay here another night, give you chance to get your strength up before we move on. That sound okay?”

Nothing at first, but then an almost imperceptible nod. Ignis puts his hands out in front of him, his sleeves riding up to reveal his painfully thin wrists. He finds the opening and traces its outline before pulling himself forward. Gladio moves back to give him space, watching Ignis emerge with none of the grace or athleticism he possessed before. _We're both like old fucking men._

Ignis clears the canvas but goes no further. Gladio can’t exactly blame him when he can’t see where he's expected to go.

“Here.” Gently he reaches for Ignis's hand. “Come sit over here. We're at the Vesperpool remember? You’re facing toward the road, with the lake behind you. We've got oats and some fruit; I’m sorry but there’s no coffee left. Got some herbal tea that’s okay though.”

Ignis eats and drinks mechanically, his shock of hair falling over his face. The pace is still slower than that first meal, but like that first time every last morsel disappears. Once they’re both done, Gladio shoulders the smaller duffel, making sure there’s nothing of value left on the haven. The tent and the campfire will stay to act as a deterrent in case there are any other travellers passing through. 

“Right, let’s go get ourselves cleaned up.” 

Ignis allows himself to be led down the gently sloping terrain towards the lake. As they go, Gladio talks, a mixture of commentary about the things Ignis can’t see and the memories of the times they travelled here as a group. When they reach the water's edge, Gladio dumps his bag against the boarded-up tackle shop—Bert having long since fled to safer lands. 

Despite everything going increasingly to shit, the water at the Vesperpool is still crystal clear, making it the perfect place to bathe. Gladio strips down to his underwear, expecting Ignis to do the same—it’s certainly warm enough—but Ignis remains like a statue with his arms wrapped around his midsection. Gladio debates with himself what best to do. Ignis would surely feel better getting clean—he’d sure as hell _smell_ better—but maybe he's too fragile to do this now, here. 

With a sigh, Gladio steps into the water, wincing at the frigid chill. Better to just get it over with. He takes a breath and ducks under the surface, shock lessening with each passing second. When he resurfaces, Ignis still hasn’t moved at all. For all the oversized hoodie and jack boots are incongruous to the man he knows Ignis to be, it’s clear he doesn’t want to take them off, which poses questions Gladio's not ready to contemplate.

“Okay, look, if you’re not comfortable undressing, how about you just come to the edge and do your hands and face, huh?”

Finally this yields a reaction and Ignis lowers himself to the ground before inching to the end of the small jetty. Gladio busies himself getting clean, but keeps an eye on Ignis as he gingerly starts to dip his hands in the water and bring them up to his face. He’s careful around and over the scar tissue, patting rather than rubbing, then finally he makes a desultory effort to wet his hair although it’s obvious that that’s a battle for somewhere with better facilities. 

Gladio scrubs his own hair and body, enthusiastically enjoying the opportunity to get clean. Wanting to maintain some standards feels more like his father would feel strongly about, and he grudgingly accepts that maybe they didn’t disagree on everything. Eventually thought they need to head back and he reluctantly climbs out of the water. 

“Here,” he says, handing the towel to Ignis. “I’ll use it when you’re done.”

Despite the warmth, the slight breeze sends his skin into goose flesh. Ignis pats dry his face and then holds out the towel, which Gladio takes and starts to dry himself off with. He strips out of his sodden underwear, heart aching at the realisation that Ignis can’t see what he's doing, because in the past Gladio knew how to use his body to good effect. Ignis, for all his stoic, unflappable demeanour could get incredibly flustered by the right amount of flesh, revealed in just the right way. Frankly, it was fucking adorable. But now his physique is useless as a method of distraction. There’s a tightness in his throat as he pulls his clothes back on and now he's cross with himself for somehow always circling back to negativity. 

“Come on, Iggy. Let's go back for a while. Maybe we can come back and fish later, yeah?”

No answer, even non-verbally this time. Together they leave the lake, Ignis walking docilely half a pace behind, his hand resting on Gladio’s elbow. Gladio's about to break the silence, to try and involve Ignis and get an idea if there's anything he wants to do, when he realises there’s a man standing on top of the haven. He stops abruptly and Ignis does too. Fuck. The last thing they need is more _human_ trouble. 

Before he can weigh up what to do, the man spots them. Gladio tenses, heartbeat hitting a sharp staccato at the prospect of fighting off would-be attackers while trying to keep Ignis safe. But the rest of their supplies are on the haven so they’ve little choice but to deal with this head on. 

“Hey,” the stranger says as they cautiously draw a little nearer. He’s dressed like a hunter, maybe a similar age to he and Ignis. “This your camp?”

“It is,” Gladio replies, acutely aware of how Ignis's fingers have tightened their grip on his arm. “I’m afraid we’re already here.”

“Oh well,” the man shrugs, adjusting the peak of his cap, “it’s a big rock, we won’t be no bother to you.”

_We?_

“Yeah,” Gladio hesitates, looking around for the others, mentally scrolling though how he can defend Ignis against an unknown number of people who might want to do them harm. “Ordinarily that'd be okay, but right now we can’t do that.”

The man's gaze travels past Gladio to Ignis and his eyes narrow. Gladio bristles at the scrutiny even though Ignis can’t see it. Two other men appear on the haven, having climbed up from the other side of the rock. 

“What’s up with your friend?” the first guy asks, jerking his chin in Ignis's direction. “He slow or somethin'?”

“He’s blind,” Gladio growls, not sure how the words make it out with his jaw clenched so hard. Before he can say anything else, two more men appear carrying camping equipment and talking loudly, unaware of this situation they’ve just walked into. Beside him, Gladio can hear Ignis's breathing speed up; the grip on his arm is almost painful, Ignis's nails millimetres from drawing blood. Gladio reevaluates their odds once again. Chances are he could take them all down, but attacking will leave Ignis vulnerable and he can’t risk it.

“Yeah well, I’m sorry dude,” the man says, not sounding sorry at all, “but you and your blind, slow friend need to share it or fuck off. It ain’t a complicated choice.” There’s an edge of hostility now. It’s obvious they’re not going to be dissuaded.

Rage kindles inside him. It’s not a stretch to imagine himself leaping forward and taking the cocky fucker's head off his shoulders, just like he did with Cade. It'd serve him right for being so fucking disrespectful. But the hand on his arm prevents it from igniting. Beneath the trembling there’s a very determined attempt to communicate that Ignis wants them to leave. The pulling rescues Gladio from the brink of fury, clearing the red mist. He shakes his head; he told himself he'd put Ignis and _his_ needs first. 

“Fine,” he calls up to the man and his companions who are all quietly watching this exchange with interest. There's not the same eagerness for violence that he saw in the Butchers, but he doesn’t doubt they’d start trouble if they needed to. “We'll go. But let us come get our stuff, okay?”

He leads a shaking Ignis to sit on a rock, murmuring reassurances so as not to be overheard. The glare he fixes the group of men with once he’s satisfied Ignis will be okay is enough to keep them over the other side of the haven. He collapses the tent and stuffs everything into the other duffel, ignoring the sniggering laughter as he works. Maybe they’re talking about something else but he doubts it from the way they keep looking over to where Ignis is sitting. 

Once he’s loaded up, he collects Ignis in readiness to leave. This unexpected development presents a new challenge, namely where they’re going to get to before darkness falls again. There’s the haven in the Myrlwood but that’s in completely the wrong direction and he doubts Ignis has the strength and stamina to make it back to Meldacio with what's left of the daylight today.

Something occurs to him, a spark of an idea that he fervently wills to be true.

“Come on,” he says quietly to Ignis. “Just wanna check somethin' out first.”

They set off in the direction of the road, the itch of being watched and talked about receding as the haven disappears from view. And then— _thank the fucking Astrals_ —it turns out he was right: the men haven’t arrived here on foot. 

“Okay, Iggy,” he says urgently, dropping the bags and turning sharply to check they’ve not been followed. “They’ve got a car so I’m gonna see if I can wire it. Stay here, okay?”

It’s an unnecessary instruction because Ignis is essentially a doll, waiting to be posed by his owner, but he offers him the courtesy anyway. Satisfied that Ignis isn’t going to move, he hurries over to the car in a crouching run. It's not locked, but Gladio figures they won’t be lucky enough to find the keys in the ignition. He’s right.

With a grunt he pulls off the panel beneath the steering column and tosses it on the ground. Despite his recent dip, he can feel the sweat starting to run down his back because it’s hardly like he can ask Ignis to act as lookout. He frees the wires, then sits up to check no one's coming. A quick internal debate later, he decides to get Ignis and their things loaded up, in case the sound of the engine brings the men running. 

Ignis is rigid with tension when he pulls him upright and guides him around to the passenger side. Wordlessly Gladio closes the car door and then throws their bags onto the backseat, almost giving himself whiplash when the slightest noise makes him jerk around to see if they’ve been rumbled.

Thankfully still undetected, he throws himself behind the wheel and closes the door, wincing at how loud it sounds. Teeth gritted, he grabs the wires and forces them together. They spark and the engine turns over once and dies.

“Come on, come on,” he growls, trying again with the same outcome. “For fuck's sake.”

And then— 

“Hey, what the fuck d'you think you’re doin'!”

Shit. Gladio says a frantic prayer and the engine finally fucking catches. He throws it into gear and jams his foot on the accelerator just as the first outraged stranger reaches the car and slams his hand on the back wing. The car lurches and for a second Gladio thinks they’re fucked as the wheels spin in the dirt, but at the last second it gains purchase and they shoot forward, out of reach of the men, who are all now running, hands waving and mouths making shapes as they presumably yell redundant threats.

Only once the men are no longer visible in the rear view mirror does Gladio breathe, the exhale escaping on a burst of slightly manic laughter. The car with— _yes_!—an almost full tank of fuel has instantly solved their transportation problems. The downside to this turn of good fortune means he'll now have to deal with taking Ignis back to Lestallum sooner rather than later, but his mind comes back to that asshole Drautos's admittedly good advice:

_Take the wins._


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the awesome [RecipehforSuccess](https://twitter.com/recipehsart?s=21) for the art in this chapter. Please go show her some love!

They pull over a couple of times to eat and take a piss, but Gladio is anxious that they keep moving. While he drives the empty roads, Ignis sleeps, his head lolling against the window, his soft breathing hitching occasionally. Eventually the glow of Alkyrie haven comes into view, not a moment too soon as the dusk deepens toward night. He pulls the car off the road so that it’s hidden from view and gently shakes Ignis awake.

The following morning Gladio loads everything back in the car, his restlessness a symptom of the knowledge that this final leg of the journey will take them back to Lestallum. Ignis doesn’t sleep as much as they head north, but is no less silent. His hands rest in his lap, tensing and relaxing in response to whatever is going on in his head. After they get back in the car following a quick comfort break Gladio realises Ignis has pulled the notebook out of his pocket and is now moving his thumb across the cover in that familiar arcing movement. Maybe he's picking up on Gladio's nerves as they near the end of their journey.

When the barricades on the outskirts of Lestallum comes into view, Gladio's surprised to find the familiarity comforting. He thinks Ignis might be sleeping, but as the car starts to slow Ignis straightens, his posture becoming rigid, the grip on the notebook tightening.

“We've reached Lestallum,” he announces. “Remember, Iggy. I’m gonna look after you, okay?”

He brings the car to a halt, eyes flicking between Ignis and the gates ahead. He winds down his window and sticks his head out in the hope that getting inside might be reasonably painless. Fortunately one of the sentries recognises Gladio and waves them through, which carries them cleanly over the first hurdle. Gladio guides the car down the ramp, assaulted by the memories of the many times Ignis drove the Regalia down here and, more specifically, the little smile he would flick at Gladio as he looked over his shoulder to reverse into one of the spaces. Gladio always knew exactly how to interpret that look and the thought of a room at the Leville would send electricity to his groin.

There are only a few cars here now and he deliberately parks in the section they designated for vehicles that are for anyone's use. Frankly he figures it's the least they can do given the car wasn’t theirs to begin with. As he kills the engine, the silence between them feels more absolute. Gladio leans forward, trying to see Ignis's face better, but the reality is the trauma Ignis has endured has stolen his expressions, good and bad, making it impossible to know what he's thinking.

“Lestallum's gonna be busier than you probably remember it,” he says apologetically. “I know you might find the noise hard, but I promise you, we just need to get through to my apartment. Then everything‘ll be okay.”

It’s a bold statement, but it’s all he's got to go on now. Gladio closes his eyes for a moment, and takes that pause to centre himself. He visualises their journey to his apartment—he’s already decided which way they should go to minimise the amount of people they’ll need to pass—and prays that Ignis can keep it together long enough to get there. The other factor in determining his route is the likelihood of being seen by someone who knows them because one fucking issue at a time is quite enough. His mind drifts to the hypotheticals of seeing Cor, of handling a conversation where he tells the marshal that this wreck of a human being is Ignis—you know, _that Ignis you said I couldn’t go looking for almost three fucking years?_

His pulse quickens at the prospect of this imaginary conversation. Best not to think about it. He needs to focus on Ignis. It’s early afternoon so the town will be in full flow, but they can’t sit here forever. The sooner he gets Ignis inside, the sooner they can start work on his recovery. That’s motivation in itself.

“Okay,” he says, determined as he throws his door open. “Let’s get goin', huh?”

Outside of the car Ignis visibly shrinks as the sounds of Lestallum flood his senses. Gladio studies him for a moment, thinking.

“Why don’t you put your hood up?”

It’s not gonna do much in the way of blocking out the noise, but it might help not draw as much attention to them given Ignis's scars make him distinct enough already. Ignis does as he suggests though, pulling the worn hood over his head, his posture almost immediately turning more hunched. It’ll have to do.

Quickly shouldering their bags, Gladio finds Ignis's hand and places it in the crook of his elbow, hoping he'll derive some comfort from the physical contact. They start walking, going at a faster pace this time. It’s not like they’ve far to go and he figures the quicker they walk, the less time there is for disaster to occur. But whenever they get near people the grip on his arm tightens and Ignis starts to resist the forward momentum. He reaches for Ignis's hand, just in case he's thinking of running.

“Come on, Iggy,” he murmurs, “not much further now.”

By the time they're round the final corner, he's practically dragging Ignis along. The breaths in his ear are coming in harsh gasps, an audible signal he's on the verge of meltdown. There’s a food stall near his apartment and a crowd clustered around it. Two children are fighting over a toy, the younger boy letting out an indignant wail when the older girl snatches it off him. Gladio doesn’t need to turn to see Ignis is at his limit. He wills him to hold on just a couple minutes more as they sidestep a group of teenagers and then—thankfully—they’re at his door.

Gritting his teeth, Gladio jams his key into the lock, missing twice in his haste before it finally goes in and turns. He pulls Ignis inside the darkened entryway and awkwardly reaches past him to slam the door closed. For a second he shuts his eyes and allows himself to breathe. One hurdle at a time. They’ve made it.

The air is blessedly cooler, but they can’t stand here forever. Shutting out some of the noise seems to have taken the edge off Ignis's panic so Gladio seeks out his hand again and transfers it to the rail.

“Careful on the stairs,” he warns. “They’re quite steep.”

Trudging up the steps, he pauses only to check Ignis is following. When he reaches the top he unlocks the door, which opens with a loud creak. It’s a relief to be back here, despite the fact that he can never think of this place as home. He drops the duffels and kicks them out of the way so they won’t be a trip hazard, then takes Ignis's hand again and draws him inside.

“Okay, we're here,” he announces, wincing at the noise of the door that he has to put a shoulder against to close it. Unsurprisingly Ignis flinches. Now Ignis's distress has receded, he's immediately re-adopted that posture of a scared, wounded animal, rigid with tension and ready to flee at the slightest hint of trouble. How magnified that fear must be without the ability to see.

“This is our place,” Gladio continues, trying to sound upbeat. “I was lucky to get it. It's small but it’s got two bedrooms at least. Prompto lives here too, but he's not here at the moment. The most important thing of all, Iggy is that you’re safe here. I ain’t gonna let anyone hurt you, you hear?”

If Ignis hears, he doesn’t give any indication. His face is a blank mask, his one working eye screwed shut like a child trying to block out the sounds of a thunder storm. It’s hard to know what to do that might increase his sense of security, but undoubtedly he’d benefit from a little physical care. On the counter top there’s a note written in Prompto's familiar looping script. Gladio scans it, relieved to discover that Prompto has gone to Hammerhead and will be staying there for the next few weeks. It’s signed off with a hope that Gladio will be back, and that Ignis will be with him. Gladio smiles at that, cheered by the prospect that something has finally gone right. Of course Ignis hasn’t moved the entire time.

“Come on. I know what we can do to help you feel a bit more like the old you.” He takes Iggy's hands and draws him forwards. “I know how much you loved washing away the day's stresses in a tub. I couldn’t believe this tiny, poky apartment had one but it has; here.” Gently he guides Ignis's hands down to the top of the roll top bath, encouraging them to follow the edge around to the faucet. Fortunately Ignis can’t see how stained it is.

“Let's get it running, okay?”

Quickly the sound of running water starts to echo off the tiles. There’s still no sign—good or bad—of what Ignis thinks about taking a bath, but Gladio finds himself eager to get him cleaned up, like it’ll go some way toward helping Ignis recover, even just in his own mind. He rummages in the small bathroom cabinet while Ignis stands silent and unmoving like a soldier on sentry duty, eventually emerging with a small bottle of bubble bath that Iris had given him when she discovered the apartment had a bath. As he pours it under the running water, the scent of strawberry fills the room. To his relief, the water is not yet beginning to run cold.

“How about you start gettin' undressed, huh?” he says when there's nothing else to do but wait for the bath to fill. “I'll go and find you a towel.”

He moves past Ignis and exits the tiny bathroom, making sure to click the door shut so that Ignis knows he’s gone. Once he’s out in the main living area, he closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath. His impatient nature is a challenge, because everything is screaming at him that this isn’t a situation that can be rushed.

Evidenced by the sliver of shadow under the door, there's movement from within the bathroom. Progress he thinks, given that he didn’t have to order Ignis to do it. He grabs the least threadbare towel he can find and heads back there, knocking first to warn Ignis of his arrival. The bath will only be half-full, but the water will probably start running cold soon.

“Okay, let's—” And he stops there, the words suddenly caught in his throat. Whilst he was gone Ignis has indeed done as he was asked and has stripped out of all his clothes, which lie in a heap at his feet. His stance is awkward, arms wrapped around his naked body like they can provide some kind of physical barrier, stopping Gladio from seeing him.

In a way, Gladio wishes it had worked.

He knew Ignis would be thin—the way he's devoured every meal is evidence that he’s not had access to enough food to maintain a healthy weight—but his ribs protrude sharply over pale, paper-thin skin and his legs hardly look strong enough to bear his weight. Thing is, there’s probably not a soul alive who's not lost weight since the darkness began, so although it’s not pleasant to see, it’s not that that’s making Gladio's heart thud in his chest the way it is doing.

It's the scars.

He tries to swallow but his mouth feels too dry. Unable to prevent himself from staring, his eyes rake over Ignis’s body, head to toe before starting the journey all over again, each time taking in new horrors. The wounds are old; months or maybe years perhaps. Some have obviously been made with blades, like the ones on his arms. Others are unmistakable as burns. The protective cocoon Gladio's mind throws around itself tries to convince him that they’re as a result of re-learning how to cook—slips and errors of Ignis's own hand.

But the mirror at Ignis's back makes a mockery of that argument. Through it Gladio can see everything, making him want nothing more than to close his eyes and pretend he’s seen none of it. What was once perfect alabaster is now a hostile landscape of ugly rope-like welts and puckered scars. They crisscross each other, a complicated roadmap of suffering where the cartographer has left no surface undocumented. Unfortunately it doesn’t take much imagination to understand how some of them got there when the imprint of a heated up blade or bar held against the skin is so clear Gladio can almost picture the weapon still in place.

The spell is broken when Ignis shifts his weight to his other foot. It’s a movement that speaks of his discomfort, like he can sense the scrutiny. Embarrassed, Gladio turns off the faucet and clears his throat.

  
“Okay, let’s get you in. Thankfully we still get hot water, but usually doesn’t last long enough to fill a bath, not that I use it much m'self. Soon as I saw it, I thought of you. I said, ‘Iggy’ll love this' although I know it won’t be as hot as you like it.” He's rambling, he knows but the silence feels too dangerous. He steps forward and takes Ignis's hands. For a second he thinks Ignis might resist, but he rocks gently on the balls of his feet and then steps forwards, allowing himself to be drawn toward the tub. When they reach it Gladio guides his hands down to feel for the edge.

“Right. If you wanna climb in and then turn to your right? That way there’s enough room for me to do somethin' about your hair.” He’s smiling as he says it, hoping the expression will be apparent in his voice, no matter how forced it feels. Once again Ignis does as he's instructed, giving Gladio an unadulterated view of his body, the scars stretching and flexing as he climbs into the tub. Gladio swallows down his revulsion at the welts across his ass and his legs, almost breathing a sigh of relief as they disappear beneath the waterline.

“I’m gonna let you soak for a minute before we get to work, okay?”

No response, not that he was expecting one. He's watching Ignis obsessively, desperate for signs that the other man is starting to relax from the hyper-vigilant state that cords his muscles and keeps him ready for action. In his mind he sees a memory.

They must have been nineteen or twenty maybe, and a fortuitous alignment of schedules meant that both Clarus and Iris were elsewhere for a day or so. With only Gladio left to rattle around the Amicitia mansion, they’d given Jared a couple of days off too. Naturally the second the coast was clear, Ignis had been invited over, the pair of them giddy with excitement at the thought of a period of time where they could be together and didn’t have to watch their backs.

Unfortunately they’d still had their own duties to attend to. As soon as he'd gotten finished, Gladio had raced home to start on a meal for them both, the sheer domesticity of it strangely alluring. Ignis had kept him updated via text, apologising that his own engagements were running over and making it explicitly clear where he’d rather be until Gladio's balls had ached and he’d let the food burn when he couldn’t bear it any longer.

Eventually Ignis had arrived, but he’d looked utterly exhausted and incapable of making good on any of his pleasant sounding threats, almost swaying where he stood as he handed Gladio his briefcase and jacket. Seizing on an idea, he'd taken Ignis into the kitchen and instructed him to sit whilst he bustled around gathering cold cuts and bread and jams, depositing him in front of them and extracting a promise from him that he’d eat. Gladio had then taken his leave, hurrying up the stairs two at a time to start on the next part of his plan.

Returning to the kitchen some fifteen minutes later, he’d found Ignis still at the table, eyes heavy-lidded, but having made good on his promise. To weak protests, Gladio had steered him up the staircase and into the large family bathroom. He’d laughed at how wide and wanting Ignis's eyes had gotten at the sight of the large claw-footed bath standing proudly on a rectangular-shaped tiled dais, sage-scented steam rising from its depths. Or maybe it was the candles positioned around the room, giving the space a soft, welcoming glow.

The image of Ignis lying bonelessly in the tub, head tipped back, mouth open to allow a long, contented sigh to escape assaults Gladio now, stealing his breath and threatening to drop him to his knees. Despite the passage of years he can still recreate the details like it was only yesterday. Ignis's long, graceful limbs glistening with oil whenever they lazily breached the surface; the almost obscene groan he'd given when Gladio had knelt down and started to massage the tension from his shoulders. Recreating it in his head now is almost as agonising as when he thought that Ignis might be dead.

Because this Ignis looks like someone has told him to enact the exact opposite of that scene. He's here in this battered and stained tub beneath the harsh fluorescent lighting, knees drawn up to his chest, one arm circling them whilst the other rests on the edge, his fingers gripping the rim so tightly his knuckles have blanched. He is enduring this in a way that almost looks painful. Eventually Gladio snaps out of it, before he can lose himself completely to despair. A quick rummage in the small cabinet unearths the other things he wants.

“Okay, so now I’m gonna come round behind you so we can have a go at fixing your hair.” Already the water is starting to darken—astrals only know what it’ll look like when the dirt starts coming out of the matted mop on Ignis's head. Awkwardly he manages to squeeze himself between the end of the tub and the wall, his joints popping as he drops to his haunches.

“I promise I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says in response to the sound of Ignis's breath speeding up. Astrals, he sounds like he’s talking to a nervous chocobo, although maybe the analogy isn’t so crazy. Ignis is skittish and fearful, moreso because he can’t see what’s happening. At least, unlike with the chocobos, he can explain what he’s doing in a calm, soothing voice and hope that the actual words will pierce the fear rather than simply being reliant on the tone.

“So I’m gonna start wetting up your hair; see if we can’t shift some of the dirt, huh?”

Gladio leans over and dips the cup in the water. Ignis flinches at the splash near his back, but he doesn’t pull away. The arm resting along the edge of the tub is covered in goose flesh.

“Okay, I’m gonna start pouring it on your head. Here we go.” He winces, discomforted at the realisation that he sounds like he’s talking to a child. But it works; Ignis stays completely still as he starts to wash his hair.

As he predicted, Ignis's pale back is instantly coated in mud and silt, which he sluices away with his other hand before it can settle in any of the scars. He works at a steady pace, murmuring encouragement until the water starts to run clear. Putting the cup down he grabs the bottle of half-empty shampoo, hoping it’ll be enough. With a jolt he realises he’s nervous because this part requires him to actually put his hands on Ignis and it’s anyone's guess how he’ll react since every other previous attempt has gone badly.

“Right, shampoo next. I’m gonna have to rub it in, okay?” The bottle makes the obligatory farting noise as he squeezes the shampoo out onto his hand. It has a citrus scent, not unlike the one Ignis used to use back in Insomnia and the reminder is almost painful.

“Here we go.”

Slowly, he eases his hand forward, but already he can see Ignis's shoulders tensing up and the hand that’s resting on the edge of the tub gripping even tighter. They’ve come this far, he can’t give up now.

“Keep breathing, steady in and out,” he soothes. Bringing up his other hand, he starts to massage the shampoo into Ignis's scalp. Disappointingly the tension doesn’t ease any, but he’s allowing it to happen and Gladio's stubbornly determined to take the wins where he can.

“Good job, Iggy. We’re gonna get all this crap out no matter how long it takes.” But his fingers snag in the tangled mass and the doubt creeps in that it’ll ever come free. If they can’t then it'll mean shaving it all off and he’s not sure Ignis could cope with that. Nor could he for that matter.

“Okay now I’m gonna rinse it off then we’ll do it all again. Rinse and repeat, just like in the commercials.”

Still nothing. He keeps going. More dirt sluices away, the water now a murky brown. They could do with draining the bath and refilling it, but there’s no way they’ll get any more hot water out of the faucet now. He squeezes another large dollop of shampoo into his palm and goes to work again still making one-sided conversation with himself like a goddamned idiot.

“You know, I think it’s lookin' better already. Smells good, too. Iris makes her own soap an' shit now. This one's one of hers. When she first gave it me it reminded me of that one you used to buy all the time. At first I couldn’t bring myself to use it, but then I had to and so I used to pretend that it was yours and I was sneakin' some because I’d run out of my own stuff.” Picking up the cup again he pauses and laughs at the memory. “You used to get so mad, but really I think you liked me smelling like you.”

Silence accompanies him as he starts to rinse again. A little more dirt comes free; one more shampoo will probably be enough.

“Right, I’m gonna do it again. I’m gonna put a little more pressure on, get your scalp nice and clean.”

He goes in—gently, or so he thinks—but Ignis lunges forward out of reach. The surprise knocks Gladio backwards, the wall stopping him from falling too far. His heart cranks up a notch. He’d barely touched Ignis's scalp or so he thought.

“Hey, hey, Iggy. It's okay.” Something occurs to him. “Is it sore?”

Nothing... nothing... and then an almost imperceptible nod. Gladio exhales and rocks back on his heels.

“Lemme take a look, I swear I’ll be really gentle.”

Eventually Ignis moves back to his original position, although he still doesn’t let go of the side of the bath. Gladio tries to scrape the shampoo back into the bottle, since they haven’t got the luxury of wasting it, then wipes his hands on the towel.

“Keep real still.” Carefully he parts Ignis's hair at the back of his head, where he’d been aiming for when Ignis had jerked away. It’s not easy; even wet the hair stubbornly resists and he winces when he has to pull a little to free it. What he discovers is an angry looking sore, fresh blood oozing at the disturbance.

“Yeah, I can see why you didn’t want me to touch it,” he murmurs apologetically. The likelihood is the scalp's also been subjected to all manner of indignities and Gladio has to resist the sudden urge to scratch his own head. Unsurprisingly this closer inspection reveals lice eggs.

“Hold on,” he says, withdrawing again, this time going to the sink and washing his hands. He leaves Ignis in the bath and goes into the living room, mulling over his options. The solution is inevitable but he still hesitates. Of course people need to know that Ignis is back, but he’d wanted to give him more time first. Especially before Cor gets wind of the pair of them being back, because Ignis can’t be tasked with Crownsguard duties and there’s no way Gladio's going anywhere and leaving him. Before he changes his mind again he finds his phone and plugs it in. If it doesn’t work then it wasn’t meant to be. But as soon as he’s able to dial Iris's number it starts to ring.

“Gladdy?” she says, sounding surprised. “Are you back already?”

“Uh, yeah.” He scratches at the back of his neck. “Got back a couple hours ago.”

“And you’ve not called to see me?” He can picture her pouting into the phone. There’s a short pause and then she says, “I thought you were supposed to be in Solerno for a while? Did you find something out about Ignis?”

“That's kinda why I’m back,” he replies, eyes flicking toward the closed bathroom door then lowers his voice further. “I found him; he’s here with me.”

He pulls the phone away from his ear sharply at the squeal Iris lets out.

“Oh, Gladdy, that’s amazing! I’m gonna come straight round—”

“No!” he barks—then more quietly, “He’s had a rough time. He’s not ready for visitors yet and I need you to keep quiet about him being here. I don’t want the marshal to know; not just yet.”

“But Gladdy—”

“Promise me, Iris. You can’t tell anyone.”

He can feel the confusion in her silence and he desperately wants to explain why, but he can’t. Not now, anyway.

“I promise,” she says, meekly. “Well I’m still really happy about it. Do either of you need anything?”

“Yeah, well that’s kinda why I’m calling. Have you got any conditioner? It’s for Ignis,” he adds before she can make a crack about his own haircare routine.

“Uh, sure,” she replies. “How much do you need?”

“A lot.” Unconsciously he gives a quick glance back to the bathroom door and then lowers his voice. “He could really do with some of that medicated stuff for treating head lice, but unless you can magic some of that up, conditioner will have to do instead.”

“Do you need it now?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“I’ll be straight over.”

He ends the call, marvelling for not the first time how he’s managed to be related to his little sister, who has positioned herself as a skilful and resourceful trader in Lestallum since everything went to shit. He hates the fact that he also feels a bit resentful of her success; she’s helping, keeping the wheels of civilised society turning while the best he seems to be able to do is to not fuck things up more.

He's contemplating checking on Ignis when the buzzer sounds. He presses the button beside his front door and waits for the sound of Iris's booted feet on the stairs before opening it. When she sees him, she holds out a bag.

“Here. There should be enough but I couldn’t find two the same, so I’m not sure what'll it smell like if you need to use them both.”

“It doesn’t matter; so long as it does the job.”

Iris tilts her head, her eyes travelling past him into the apartment beyond. “Are you sure you don’t want some help?”

“I can wash hair,” he frowns.

She shrugs and gives him an impish, slanted smile. Occasionally she lets her girlish side out—she’s still only a teenager, after all—but it's only ever with him. Maintaining appearances is more important than ever, and given what she does, she can’t afford to be seen as a pushover kid.

“Okay, just offering.” Her expression sobers and she lowers her voice just as he’d done on the phone. “How’s he doing?”

Gladio makes a presence of studying the conditioner she’s brought—one apple scented, the other coconut—before he meets her gaze and smiles, all teeth like it'll somehow convince her he’s not full of shit. “He's okay, you don’t need to worry. But I’ll tell him you came by.”

Iris's eyebrow arches. “We are gonna get to see him at some point?”

“Sure, sure. He just wants to get cleaned up first, you know?”

He’s nodding and eventually she mirrors him, although it’s slightly less enthusiastic than his own. It irritates him that she clearly doesn’t believe him. He can see the questions forming in her eyes.

“Anyway, I should get back.” He gestures to the bag. “Thanks again for these.”

“No problem. Just let me know if you need anything else.” She gives him a wave and starts down the stairs. He's almost closed the door when she turns back. “You take care, Gladdy.”

All at once he feels a rush of love and affection for her. He wants to hug her tight and have her hug him back and then unburden himself of what he knows about Ignis's experiences over the last few years and his fears about all the things he doesn’t. But instead he gives her a smile and a salute. “You too, kiddo.”

With the door closed, he closes his eyes for a moment before taking a breath and squaring his shoulders. Time to get back to it. It doesn’t help his mood any to discover that Ignis is still just sitting unmoving in the rapidly cooling water, like a sculpture lost amidst the flooded remains of an ancient civilisation. Forcing positivity back into his voice, he uncaps the first bottle of conditioner and sets it down beside the tub.

“Okay, sorry about that; just needed to get a few more supplies. I’ve got everything we need so how about we get on with it, huh?”

OoOoO

At a guess it takes almost a full hour and by the end Gladio's muscles are cramping angrily, forcing him to change position almost every few minutes or so. After a last rinse of both Ignis's hair and body—Gladio apologising repeatedly for the now stone-cold water—they’re finally done. When he helps Ignis climb out, the tide mark around the bath tub is so dark it looks as if it’s been painted on. His skin is clean, and the eye-watering smell of stale sweat and dirt is gone.

Thanks to Iris's supplies, Ignis's hair is now clean, lice-free allowing the comb to pass through it easily. Gladio realises that he expected it to be longer, but the reality is the same lack of nutrients that has seen Ignis's physique so reduced has also stunted the growth of his hair. A quick trim, achieved with the same murmured reassurances whilst he works puts it closer to the style Ignis preferred when he decided not to gel it into spikes.

Whilst he has the scissors, he manages to trim Ignis's nails as well. With Ignis allowing the touch, he's able to get a closer look at his hands and, more specifically, the missing part of his finger on the left. The wound is neat, like it was severed cleanly and the obvious question about its origin is almost impossible to push away. Maybe not knowing is better. Instead Gladio wets his dry lips and moves onto trim the nail on the next finger.

Many hours after they started, and feeling like he’s done a full Crownsguard training session, Gladio eventually sits back and breathes out a long, tired sigh as he admires his handiwork. Ignis is now dressed in a worn black henley and jeans that are far too baggy, his damp hair falling across his closed eyes. The sight of him looking more like his old self is enough to increase the ache in Gladio's heart, mainly because he knows that the inside will surely not be cleaned up so easily. His eyes drop to Ignis's arms and the scars crisscrossing his pale skin—a mere fraction of the ones he’s got. Gladio makes a mental vow that he won’t let Ignis acquire a single additional injury, not while he’s alive to take care of him, even though the voice of doubt—so strident of late—reminds him what a piss-poor job he’s done so far.


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More glorious art from [RecipehforSuccess](https://twitter.com/recipehsart?s=21). T/W for blood.

Telling Iris turns out to be extremely useful, because if he's to try and get some weight back on Ignis they need regular supplies, but he doesn’t feel confident leaving Ignis to go out and get them. Iris wants to help though, so she goes to the market to get what she can, even though her frustration is mounting at always being held at the door and never invited inside. After repeating this routine for a few days, she mentions that both Talcott and Monica have queried her trips, especially as none of the produce she is seen buying seems to find its way into her own kitchen.

“What do I tell them?” she asks one morning as Gladio comes downstairs to take the bags off her.

“I dunno. Tell them you’ve befriended an old person and you’re helpin' them out.”

Iris grins, but sensibly steps back out of range. “Well, technically that’s not a lie.”

“Cheeky brat.”

“So how's Ignis doing?” she asks, the smile now faded from her eyes. “I’m worried about him, Gladdy. I thought we'd have seen him by now.”

“I know. It's just.... well, give him time.”

Iris chews on her lip for a moment. “Is he... is he angry with us? For not trying harder to find him after he left?”

“What? No, that ain’t it.”

“So what is it?”

Gladio sighs, shifting the bags of groceries in his arms. He hesitates, feeling disloyal to be saying anything at all. Ignis won’t want everyone knowing his business, but he’s got to make Iris understand all the need for secrecy.

“When he left Lestallum he travelled north, don’t ask me why. Unfortunately he crossed paths with some very bad people who rescued him, but then decided he should stay with them.”

Iris listens, frowning. “Did Ignis know they were bad? It doesn’t sound like him to stay with people like that.”

“Yeah, unfortunately they didn’t really give him much choice. At first he did attempt to get away from them, but I think it probably made things worse so he stopped trying. Plus, the location he was in was really remote so it was too dangerous for him to just leave.”

“Oh, Gladdy that sounds horrible. Has he told you what happened to him?”

He shakes is head. “I know a little, but Ignis hasn’t talked about it himself yet. I’m hoping a few more days settling in and he’ll start to get back to his old self.” _Days? Try months or years even._

“Well with you taking care of him, I’m sure he’ll be feeling better soon!”

He mirrors her smile, feeling like an absolute fucking fraud. “Look, I, uh, better get back inside. Thanks for all your help, sis.”

“You got it.”

He watches her leave before closing the door. In the apartment Ignis is sitting on the couch, his eyes tightly closed. His slight movements indicate he’s not sleeping, but it’s frustrating not knowing what to suggest he does since things like reading a book or sitting and watching the comings and goings on the streets outside aren't available to him anymore. In Altissia, there had been so little time for all of them to adjust to the realities of Ignis's blindness that he’d never really stopped to consider all the small, seemingly inconsequential things that are now different. So Gladio talks instead, in the hope of drawing Ignis out of himself.

“Iris has brought us some more groceries”, he explains, placing the bags on the counter top and starting to unpack them. “She's still desperate to see you, but I’ve told her you need a little more time first.” He glances over to where Ignis is sitting. The pad and paper Gladio had dug out in the hope that he'd communicate through it sits on the coffee table in front of him, still unused.

The ever-present question in Gladio’s mind surfaces once again: _what now_? Ignis is clean, safe and has no immediately presenting health needs that requires attention, aside from a steady regain of weight. It’s therefore difficult to escape the notion that his recovery has plateaued even though Gladio knows that’s ridiculous. He needs time and patience, both of which feel frustratingly difficult to muster when he's always relied on taking affirmative action to get things done.

Later on he's standing at the open window when he sees the food stall across the square has a larger than normal crowd around it. This happens sometimes if a vendor has managed to get their hands on something that’s typically in short supply. He follows two women as they walk away, trying desperately to see what they’ve got in their hands. As if they can hear his thoughts, they suddenly change direction and come to stand below the open window. Parts of their conversation cut through the general hubbub and he definitely hears the word 'coffee'. He glances around at Ignis and imagines him holding a cup of decent coffee, inhaling the aroma like the vapours of a magic potion.

Snatching up his phone he calls Iris's number, but the line is dead.

“Fuck.” Because now’s the perfect time for an outage. He looks at Ignis again and makes a decision.

“Iggy, I gotta go out for literally two minutes, okay?” Inspiration strikes as his eyes land on the small, portable radio balanced on a stack of books. He grabs the device, praying it's still got batteries. “I’m gonna put the radio on, give you somethin' to do while I’m gone.”

He twists the dials but nothing happens. Then, as he’s about to toss it back onto the counter, he realises the volume dial is turned to zero. A little more fiddling and there’s a burst of noise from one of the few remaining radio stations still in operation. Triumphantly he sets it down and pats his pocket to check he’s got his wallet.

“Okay, I’m gonna be right back, I swear. You're okay, Iggy. Remember what I said.”

His pulse quickens as he takes the stairs two at a time. With the door safely locked, he jogs across the square, glancing over his shoulder to check Ignis isn’t at the window. He joins the line, drumming a beat on his thighs as he wills the stall owner to serve people faster. The wait is agonising. Doubt creeps in that this was a good idea. And then he reaches the front and discovers that they have not only coffee—actual real, freshly brewed coffee—but cake too. Chiffon cake, just like Ignis used to make. Practically salivating, Gladio buys some for both of them.

“Hey, look what I got,” he announces as he lets himself back in, wincing slightly at his choice of wording. Flicking off the radio, he quickly plates up the cake and takes it over with the coffee to where Ignis is sitting. He places the plate on the small side table and guides the tall paper cup into Ignis's hands.

“Okay, breathe deep an' get a load of this.”

Ignis does as he’s told and Gladio is rewarded with the sight of his expression transforming. The change is subtle, but it’s clear the scent is a welcome one from Ignis's memories. And Gladio can’t help but grin as he watches Ignis take that first sip and his shoulders drop just a fraction. Maybe it’s gonna be okay.

OoOoO

Until things naturally take a nose dive. Part way through the afternoon the buzzer rings several times in frantic succession. Ignis is sleeping and doesn’t stir as Gladio hurries down the stairs to see who's here before the noise wakes him up. It’s Iris, her face telling him everything before she’s even opened her mouth.

“Gladdy,” she says, her skin flushed, “Cor knows you’re back! Someone saw you out here earlier. He asked me if I knew and I couldn’t lie to him. I’m so sorry!”

“Hey.” He raises his hands. “It’s okay. He was gonna find out eventually. What did he say? Oh shit, does he know Ignis is here too?”

Iris shakes her head. “I just said I knew you were back but I didn’t know why.”

That’s something at least. “Okay, I’ll deal with it. Thanks for the warning.”

He scrubs a hand through his hair, weighing up his options. If he doesn’t take the bull by the horns Cor will expect him to be available for missions. If he finds out via the grapevine that Ignis is back he'll almost certainly turn up here, possibly demanding to see him for himself. Better he goes and gets it over with. He sighs.

“Iris. You got a minute?”

She dutifully follows him upstairs, her boots almost undetectable behind him. At the top he puts his finger to his lips and she nods. Then he opens the door gently, minimising the creak of the hinges and they both slip inside. Wordlessly she steps around him, her eyes fixed on the figure lying on the couch. He watches how her eyes widen and her hand goes to her mouth. To him, Ignis looks better, but he doesn’t want to become desensitised to the horror of his situation. So he makes himself look too, forcing himself into Iris's shoes; imagining he’s seeing the scarred arms and the pale, sunken cheekbones for the first time.

“What... what's happened to him?” she whispers, finally tearing her eyes away to look at Gladio.

“Like I said, the gang who imprisoned him were bad guys.”

Her expression transforms, hardening in a way that almost makes him want to take a step back. “Whoever did this needs to pay.”

“Yeah... that's kinda the problem,” he says quietly. “I killed them and now the marshal is gonna be pissed with me.”

“What? _Why_?”

“It's complicated,” he says, knowing it sounds like an excuse, but if he’s going to see Cor and get back before Ignis wakes he hasn’t time to explain. “And I swear I’ll fill you in, but right now I need you to stay here with him until I get back. Just try and stay quiet so he'll stay asleep.”

Iris's eyes widen again. “What do I do if he wakes up?”

“Just... just pray that he doesn’t. I’ll be as quick as I can, okay?”

He sets off at a run. For once he prays that Cor is so much of a workaholic that he’ll be at his desk, save him the trouble of running all over Lestallum looking for him. But the town council chambers are locked when he arrives.

“Awesome,” he says flatly, rattling the handle once for good measure.

“Gladio.”

He spins on his heel, coming face to face with Cor whose expression looks like the sky shortly before a heavy downpour. “I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you back so soon.”

Gladio nods, telling himself that he’s not going to play the marshal's cat and mouse game where he keeps things deliberately vague so that Gladio incriminates himself.

“There was a change of plan,” he answers, walking back down the steps. He stops two from the bottom, the little extra height a psychological boon.

“Oh?”

“I found Ignis.”

There’s some satisfaction to be derived from way Cor's eyebrows lift. It almost qualifies as an expression.

“That's wonderful. Where's he been?”

“Nowhere good.”

Gladio shoves his hands into his pockets and fixes Cor with a stare. “He’s injured so I wouldn’t count on including him in your plans any time soon. Same for me, for that matter.”

The storm clouds burst; as predicted the rain is torrential. “Might I remind you that you’re shield to the king? You can’t just pick and choose when you serve.”

“Believe me I know. But Noct ain’t here right now, so I’m gonna do the next best thing and ensure that the person closest to him in this whole godsdamn world is fully recovered by the time he comes back.”

Frankly he’s fucking proud of himself for how calm he sounds even though he doesn’t remotely feel it. Part of him wants to tell Cor everything, to make the other man share in his guilt that Ignis wasn’t found sooner. But detail means more questions. Cor's mind is like a steel trap—if he knows where Ignis has been, he'll ask the obvious questions about how Gladio was able to get him out. More awkward questions will follow about Solerno and the other northern settlements, which Gladio isn’t able to answer. There’s also a part of him that's scared that if he tells Cor the extent of Ignis's trauma he’ll decide Gladio's wasting his time and Ignis should just be written off altogether.

With that in mind, he walks down the last couple of steps and tries again.

“Just... give me some time, _please_. I’ll get back to my duties, you know I will. But right now, Ignis needs a friend. Prompto ain’t here, so it's gotta be me.”

Cor eyes him for a moment and then nods, once. “Fine. But when Prompto is back in town he can take over from you if you’re needed for something else. Okay?”

“Okay,” Gladio repeats. Like fuck he's leaving, but he's not gonna say that now. He'll have to just cross that bridge when the time comes.

OoOoO

When he gets back to the apartment he’s greeted—thankfully—by the sight of Ignis still fast asleep on the couch. He reassures Iris that he’s spoken to Cor and has been given the green light to focus on Ignis for the time being. That’s the slightly editorialised version he gives her anyway.

“He hasn’t stirred once,” Iris says twisting a strand of her hair as she turns anxious eyes on him. “What’s wrong with him, Gladdy?”

He studies Ignis for a moment. “Physically his body's really weak. He needs regular meals and plenty of rest. But I’m gonna make sure he gets everything he needs.”

“We all will, Gladdy,” Iris says slipping her arm into his.

“Yeah...” he says slowly, feeling like an asshole for what he’s about to say. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, kiddo, but I think it’s better if he doesn’t have anyone visiting him yet. He's...” he casts around for the right word, “vulnerable. Especially without his sight.”

She nods, her eyes downcast. Evidently it’s not what she wanted to hear. He reaches for her hand and gives it a squeeze. “Hey, don’t forget you’ve already been helping him by getting us groceries so I don’t have to go out. If you can keep doin' that, I’m sure he'll be back to his old self in no time.”

“You can count on me,” she says. “What about Dustin and the others?”

He's weighs it up for a moment. Cor knowing was probably his biggest concern, but with that situation resolved the need for secrecy isn’t so great. “Tell them he’s back, but that he needs to recover so he’s not ready to see anyone yet. It’s not a lie to say he’s compromised physically so it’s sensible to keep people away for now. We don’t want him to get sick, do we?”

Iris shakes her head as she studies the sleeping figure. “I should go.”

Gladio walks her to the door. Before she can step out onto the street he pulls her into a hug.

“Dad’d be so proud of you,” he says into her hair, punctuating the sentence with a tender kiss. She draws back and looks up at him.

“He’d be really proud of you, too.”

“Yeah,” he replies, hugging her again so she can’t see the expression on his face. “Maybe.”

OoOoO

With Cor aware that they’re back and Iris on board with helping from a distance, the pressure is taken off. Or rather, it becomes a different kind of pressure. Because he’s essentially stuck in a poky apartment with an extremely detailed mannequin. Ignis rarely does anything without it being a suggestion first and the notepad and pencil remain unused. Frustrated, Gladio tries to offer him choices, even if it’s something as simple as what they have to eat or whether he’d like the radio on or off. Nothing seems to make a difference though.

The only positives come through seeing Ignis eating and sleeping with regularity. He's still far too pale and far too thin. Sometimes the only consolation Gladio gets when he looks at the ghost taking up space on the couch is knowing that he’s still alive.

At times the small square where his apartment is located gets busy when groups congregate there and the noise level rises. He has to stop himself going out and yelling at them all to get the fuck out from here when he sees how it makes Ignis shake. He finds himself wondering what would happen if Noct was to come back now. Would Ignis magically snap out of this almost catatonic state? It speaks to that small, ugly part of him, jealous of the closeness between Ignis and Noct that he thinks this at all. Ignis has always given more than he's able, providing Noct's the one asking.

A month passes. Sometimes thinking of how many days it is is like death by a thousand cuts. Gladio wakes every day praying something will be different, but very little is until the morning he hears footsteps on the stairs—instantly putting him on high alert because he hasn’t let anyone in. Ignis is currently in the bath so Gladio quickly slips out and almost runs straight into Prompto, whose head snaps up at the last second as he trudges up the steps.

“Hey,” he says, surprise bleeding into delight at finding Gladio back here. “How you doing—oh, hey, how’d you get on looking for Ignis?”

That answers his question about whether Prompto has seen anyone else first on his way over here.

“When did you get back?”

“Just.” Prompto's still looking at him expectantly.

Gladio glances at the door before pulling Prompto back down the stairs a short distance. “He’s here. I found him.” The shock on Prompto's face would be comical under any other circumstances. His mouth drops opens but before he can say anything, Gladio says, “but he's in a bad way.”

His honesty takes him by surprise. But the bond they forged in Tenebrae has made Prompto more than just an acquaintance. Prompto cares about Ignis too. His being back here is a problem for two reasons though: Gladio's currently using his bedroom in order to give Ignis privacy and space and the likelihood is if Cor knows Prompto's back then he's going to order Gladio out on a mission somewhere.

“What’s happened to him?” Prompto asks, unconsciously imitating Gladio's reduced volume.

“It’s a long story and none of it's good—”

“Can I see him?”

Gladio sighs, feeling like an asshole, just like when he had this conversation with Iris. “I dunno if it’s such a good idea, man. Not yet, anyway. He’s like, really fucking traumatised.”

The look of his face is evidently enough to convince Prompto that he’s telling the truth. Sensing he's got his support, Gladio puts a hand on Prompto's shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“I know it ain’t the reunion we thought we’d get, but there is somethin' you can do for him.”

“Anything, you name it.”

Gladio takes a breath. “Go back to Hammerhead.”

Blond eyebrow slant heavily. “What?”

Yeah, he knows how it sounds. _Nice to see you Prompto, now why don’t you do me a favour and fuck off?_

“Sorry, it’s just—I gave my room to Iggy so I’ve been crashing in yours. But the main thing is the marshal. I told Cor that Ignis couldn’t be left alone and he agreed to not send me out anywhere until you were back, so if you’re not here...”

“Then he can’t make you leave.” Prompto nods and Gladio's shoulders slump in relief. “I’m sorry, man. I know it’s a lot to ask, but he just needs more time. If you can buy us that time, then I can help him.”

“Sure, buddy. Just... try and keep me updated okay? And tell Iggy I'm really glad that he’s back.”

OoOoO

Despite getting what he wants, Gladio still feels like shit. But for Ignis's sake he tells himself he's doing the right thing. The plan, as he sees it, is a simple one: get Ignis back to full health, then slowly start to desensitise him to the outside world, starting with the people who care for him most.

On a few occasions, he manages to leave Ignis alone in the apartment. He never goes for long and he always outlines exactly where he’s going and how long he'll be gone. His nerves lessen a little with every successful trip. Every time it amazes him how relieved he feels to be out, like he can finally open his lungs and _breathe_. Despite being a born and bred city boy, he knows he's not cut out for such confined spaces.

The downside to getting out is he runs into Cor. The marshal is good to his word—with Prompto still out at Hammerhead he won’t send Gladio anywhere, but it’s clear this situation and the length of time it’s going on for annoys him. As far as Gladio's aware there’s been no word from the north, so he convinces himself everything is okay up there in the same possibly deluded way that he tells himself Ignis is getting better.

One month becomes two. Physically Ignis continues to improve—his appearance doesn’t shock Gladio the way it once did, but it’s like he’s still not ready to wake up. When Gladio confides in Iris, she suggests trying to take Ignis out—just to the food cart across the square, at a quieter time of day, of course. When he looks aghast at the prospect of attempting something so bold, she reminds him of Ignis's reaction when he brought him the coffee and cake. He pictures the way Ignis visibly relaxed—the closest Ignis has come to a positive reaction since he was rescued and although Iris lets the matter drop, Gladio’s brain refuses to do the same.

He ponders and ruminates, and wakes up one morning figuring that both time and patience have had a fair crack at it, but now it's time to try something different. Iris's suggestion isn’t a bad one—Gladio’s still not sure that Ignis is ready for outside— but focusing on food seems such an obvious thing he can’t quite believe he hasn’t thought of it sooner. He’s been allowing Ignis to remain completely passive, even in the safe surrounds of their apartment. Well this changes, _now._

They eat lunch together and Gladio clears everything away while Ignis rests in his familiar spot on the couch, staring out of a window that he can’t see. At some point in the afternoon at Talcott arrives with the supplies Gladio ordered. He takes them off the boy gratefully and hurries back upstairs to put them away, smiling as he works. Once everything's ready, he goes to fetch Ignis, drawing him up lightly and guiding him over to the kitchen. He gesture around even though Ignis can’t see it.

“This is ours, Iggy. I know it ain't much, but you can do whatever you like, _make_ whatever you want.” Ignis flinches as Gladio puts his hands on his shoulders and steers him over to the countertop, flinches again when Gladio takes his hands. “Feel it, learn your way around. The burner works, there are pans, bowls, everything. I _knew_ you'd be back one day so collected equipment for you.” He opens a drawer that protests noisily and manoeuvres Ignis's hands to rest on top of the utensils. “They're _yours_ , Iggy.”

Next he guides Ignis to the refrigerator. The cold escapes weakly, but it’s enough to protect the contents from the worst of the Lestallum heat. “There’s some garulessa meat, a whole grouper and well, I know you, Iggy, your nose will figure out the rest. I got you some herbs too,” he continues, closing the refrigerator door and pivoting Ignis back to the countertop. “Like I said, I knew I'd find you eventually so I made sure I kept a stockpile so when you wanted to cook you’d have everything you needed.”

Ignis's expression remains blank throughout, but Gladio refuses to be disheartened. If he can just get Ignis cooking again then he can start to emerge from this fucking _coma_. “I’m gonna go,” he says smiling, hoping Ignis can hear the positivity in his voice, “just for a bit. I’m gonna leave you to find your way around and you’re gonna cook something, okay?” Now holding Ignis's hands again he gives them a squeeze for good measure. “You’re gonna cook somethin' and it’s gonna be amazing.”

With one last backward glance he leaves Ignis standing in the kitchen and goes out. He waits a minute or so on the landing, tuning out the sounds of the town to see if he can hear Ignis moving around and when he does—the squeak of that stiff top drawer being opened again—he rejoices a little and heads out grinning to himself.

Outside the heat is oppressive and his forehead instantly beads with sweat. Instantly he wishes he could turn around and retreat into the cool but he wants to give Ignis space so he looks at his watch to check how long to be gone for. Maybe he should go check in on Iris. She’ll be good for a drink and he wants to see the look on her face when he tells her that he’s left Ignis back at the apartment cooking. None of them know how strong Ignis is, not like he does.

He navigates the narrow streets, ducking beneath the lamps that hang from the buildings. Every corner of Lestallum is full now, or so it seems. Despite all their planning and defences outposts are still falling and when that happens the people who survived pour into the town. More people means more tension. Yet with Ignis back, Lestallum feels different. Now Gladio sees the hope and the will to survive. He sees community not overcrowding. Finding Ignis seemed insurmountable at one time and here they are. Maybe humanity _can_ survive until Noct returns.

It occurs to him that he’s now thinking of Noct's return in terms of _when_ not if. Another shift he has Ignis to thank for. It gives him a spring in his step and as he walks down an alley that runs parallel to the marketplace he grins at a man trying and failing to light a cigarette, who looks back at him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

He wanders the streets around the apartment for half an hour.

Crossing the square, he glances around at people seated to see if there’s anyone here he knows. There aren’t many places where it’s still possible to get vaguely decent food and a beer that doesn’t taste like it’s been brewed from piss, so the tables are usually occupied all hours. Gladio's not expecting to see anyone—not anyone he really wants to speak to at any rate—but his eyes light on a familiar blond head causing him to break his stride and change direction.

Prompto happens to look up at that moment and sees him approaching. Given his ever-sunny personality, his natural inclination is to smile, although his eyebrows twitch, a question there, presumably at why Gladio looks so goddamned pleased with himself.

“Hey,” he says as Gladio draws close. There’s an empty seat at the next table and Gladio takes it without asking first. The couple seated at the table glance up at the interruption and the woman looks about to protest, but stops short, the words apparently frozen inside her open mouth. Gladio smirks to himself, used to that response when a would-be antagonist has had the opportunity to take in his size and decide it’s not worth the hassle.

“Hey. When did you get back?”

“Few hours ago,” Prompto replies before shovelling a handful of fries into his mouth. “I'm just here picking up some supplies for Cid and then I’m heading back. I would have called but I was starving.”

Given his less than stellar table manners, Gladio can believe it. There’s a cut over one eye and his bare arms are littered with bruises and scrapes. Gladio jerks his head towards the injuries. “You been hunting, or did Cindy just get sick of your shit?”

Still chewing, Prompto makes a _ha ha_ face. “Yeah, it was a hunt. Could have gone worse.”

No one died then. Prompto's hand moves to the fries again but stops, his expression suddenly serious. “How's Iggy doing?”

Gladio finds himself nodding despite the internal grimace at the use of the nickname that, in his mind, belongs solely to him. “Good. I think we're gonna have a real breakthrough.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve left him back at the apartment.”

“On his own?”

Prompto makes no attempt to hide his surprise but after a moment he looks away and reaches for his beer. The question feels like an accusation which needles Gladio probably more than it should given how much he’s argued that Ignis can’t be left alone.

“What’s your point?” he growls.

Prompto takes a long drink and then considers the bottle in his hand. The recycled bottle houses a different brew from the one named on the label, but it’s not like there's anyone around these days to take issue with the infringement.

“It’s not a criticism,” he says eventually, “I’m just surprised. You’ve been telling Cor that you can’t leave him, that he’s not safe to be left alone and, well, you’ve left him alone.”

Gladio can feel his earlier good mood evaporating.

“I wanted to try something,” he explains, trying and failing not to sound defensive. “I talked him through where everything was in the kitchen and have told him to cook something while I went out.”

Prompto doesn’t say anything, but his eyes widen fractionally before they cut away—enough to tell Gladio his pronouncement hasn’t been received as positively as he presumed it would be from someone who knows Iggy’s love of cookery.

“What?”

“Uh... nothing.”

Gladio rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, that definitely looks like nothing. Whatever you’re thinking just say it, okay?”

In the face of such a hard stare Prompto eventually relents, although it’s not in that nervy, wilting way that he used to do back when he was intimidated by both Gladio's standing and his stature. Now it’s more like resignation. The realisation rankles.

“It’s just... are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

Arms folded, Gladio leans back in his chair, the frame creaking in protest. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, it’s just... you said the gang only kept Iggy alive so that he could cook for them. I doubt they got him to do that by asking nicely so are you sure preparing food has the same positive associations for him that it used to?”

Now it’s Prompto’s turn to stare—albeit less aggressively—until Gladio starts to feel uncomfortable at the scrutiny. Answers stall, every one not quite enough to silence the implied criticism of what he’s done. A criticism his own mind is now starting to make too. That he’s made a mistake. A big fucking mistake.

“Come on then,” Gladio says, getting to his feet, consumed by the need to be vindicated. “Let’s go see how he’s doing, okay?”

Prompto casts a mournful eye at his meal. Evidently he senses Gladio's impatience because he downs his beer, shovels the last of his burger into his mouth and wipes his hands on his jacket before standing up too.

They thread their way back through the streets and alleys side by side but not quite in step. Out of nowhere Gladio thinks of the set pieces they developed as a foursome, sometimes out of necessity but usually out of eagerness to see what they could achieve together. When everything was so fucking perfectly timed, that with his eyes closed he could say exactly where the other three were and what their next move would be. Only as the apartment comes into view does Gladio say, “he's gonna be okay, you know?”

Prompto shoots him that look again—like he’s not sure whose benefit the comment is for. “Fuck, Prompto. Have a little faith in him won’t you?”

Expression guileless, Prompto spreads his hands. He doesn’t want to fight about this any more than Gladio does really.

“Hey, believe me, I want you to be one hundred percent on the money here, Gladio and you know him best. I want to see Iggy doing better. I miss him.”

And it’s true, Gladio knows that. Prompto wants Ignis back as much as any of the people who knew and loved the man he was. So maybe he should have a little faith. Gladio puts the key in the door and opens it.

The noise of their booted feet on the bare stairs drowns out the opportunity to hear any sounds coming from the apartment. Belatedly, Gladio realises he can smell burning and his heart sinks because if he’s noticed it then undoubtedly Prompto has too. He doesn’t bother looking back to gauge Prompto's thoughts, instead focusing on getting into the apartment instead.

Now let it be said he was never expecting to come home and find a three course meal, Ignis standing proudly behind a tabled feast of his own creation, but what greets them is chaos, pure and simple. In the time he's been gone, Ignis appears to have attempted the task Gladio set him, but the execution has been... well, a fucking disaster.

“What the...?” Gladio says, the words trailing off as he surveys the scene.

The refrigerator door hangs open, the floor directly in front of it transformed into a pool of something brown and sticky from the bottle lying tipped over on one of the shelves. On the electric hot plate a pan is smoking, filling the apartment with choking clouds and the source of the terrible burning smell. Broken glass litters the floor, and the flour that cost Gladio a modern-day small fortune appears to be mostly down there with it. And Ignis, architect of this destruction, is sitting hunched on the floor, his hands wrapped around his head like he’s sheltering from falling debris.

The flicker of a flame breaks Gladio's paralysis and he springs forward to deal with it, turning off the burner and dousing the incinerated contents of the pan in cold water. His boots crunch on the broken glass, grinding it to dust. That'll be a bitch to clear up later. In the meantime, Prompto has thrown open some windows. Thank fuck they came back when they did. Iggy could have burnt the apartment down and killed himself in the process.

“Iggy, what the _fuck_?” The words are lost in a succession of coughs as he frantically wafts away the smoke. It must have sounded harsher than he intended, because Prompto snaps, “hey, leave him alone.”

Because Ignis is cowering, his body physically shaking. His hands are a bloody mess, presumably from all the broken glass. But Gladio is still stuck on the barb in Prompto's voice. _How fucking dare he?_

“I’m tryin' to help him okay?” he growls, fists balled at his sides.

“Did you ask him?”

“What?”

“When you had this brilliant idea, did you ask him if he wanted to cook?” Prompto shoots back.

“Now wait a minute—”

“No, Gladio,” Prompto cuts in as angry as Gladio's ever seen him. “Can’t you see this is Altissia all over again? You’ve decided what’s best for him and you won’t hear arguments from anyone else! You won’t even give _him_ a say! All you had to do was ask him what he wanted!”

Blood rushing to his cheeks, he rounds on Prompto, channelling every inch of his grief and frustration as his pulse roars in his ears. The other man straightens like he’s expecting it to turn to blows. To be fair, Gladio can’t guarantee that it isn’t.

“You make it sound _so fuckin' simple_! Ask him! _Ask him_. I’ve asked him, I’ve begged him, I dunno what else to do!” Consumed by cold fury he sweeps a stack of pans onto the floor with a deafening clatter. “I love him and I just can't fuckin' reach him! I found him and brought him back and it’s still like he fuckin' _died_.”

He stops abruptly, that final word spoken raggedly, his face now wet with tears. He’s just confessed that he loves Ignis. But Prompto isn’t looking at him though. His eyes are fixed on Ignis and reluctantly Gladio follows his gaze and in that instant, his anger gives way to something that almost sends him to his knees.

Because while he and Prompto were exchanging angry words, Ignis had slumped over and is lying amidst the wreckage of the kitchen, his arms wrapped tightly over his head. A whimpering sound fights its way free from the barrier he’s created, but Gladio's eyes are drawn to the darkened patch on the front of Ignis's pants and the spreading wetness on the floor around him. Horrified, he looks at Prompto to see dismay and grief mirrored there too. Fuck.

He remembers that night at the haven, just after he’d rescued Ignis from the Butchers when he'd laid Ignis down to sleep and promised him that he’d never allow anyone to hurt him ever again. And yet here he is with Ignis, who's already suffered more than any man should, doing exactly that. And it’s his fault. _He_ did this.

Before he can think twice, he turns and flees, crashing down the stairs and out into the street. Several people look his way, drawn by his madness, and he meets their eyes before they quickly look away like the wildness they see there could be catching. For a second he thinks Prompto might come after him, but there's no sound from behind except the click of the door swinging shut at his back. Stupid. Prompto will almost certainly be looking after Ignis, which he’s grateful for given the fact that he's clearly no fucking good at it.

He's no fucking good at _anything_.

Not wanting to stay, he starts to walk even though part of him wants to run like Ifrit himself is on his heels. With no destination in mind he wanders the streets and alleys, heart clenching whenever he thinks of Ignis or, more specifically, the scene he just left behind. Ignis is just... _so fucking broken_. He thought it was simply a matter of putting the pieces back together, but now he realises that some are missing altogether, like they got left behind when he rescued Ignis from Cade's gang. Or maybe some didn’t even make it that far; maybe they were washed away in the waters of Altissia, gone forever along with Ignis's eyesight.

All these things have contributed to the broken man in his apartment but there’s a nagging voice in his brain that refuses to quiet. _I’m to blame for all of it_.

Turning out of alley and onto the street he realises too late where he is. And because his luck is nothing short of abysmal it figures he should run straight into Cor, the man's sour expression growing darker when he sees Gladio's approach.

“Marshal,” Gladio says with a nod, not intending to stop and hoping that Cor feels similarly disinclined to talk.

“Well, well. I was starting to think you’d left town.”

Gladio pulls up short, his hands dug into the pockets of his combats. “I’ve been busy.”

“Oh?”

Cor studies him mildly, yet somehow even the marshal’s most benign expression is uncomfortable. Gladio looks away, pretending to be focused on the lantern overhead that has started to swing in the breeze.

“With Ignis,” he clarifies, still not looking.

“How's he doing?”

“Not good.” There’s a temptation to apportion some blame in Cor's direction. Maybe if Cor hadn’t had him running around everywhere and he’d have found Ignis sooner he wouldn’t be quite as fucked up as he is now.

“That’s a shame,” Cor says without a flicker of anything stronger passing across his features. “If he'd improved it might have made your little murder spree worthwhile.”

The words ricochet like a hard slap. Stunned, Gladio finally meets his gaze. “Now hang on a damn minute—”

“No,” Cor snaps. “I won’t. Because actions have consequences and your actions meant we lost a valuable outpost. You think I wouldn’t find out about the mess you left behind in the north? For gods' sakes, Gladio, give me some credit won’t you? Because of you, parts of Cleigne have now lost power, which means those people will either die or have to come here.”

Despite his shock, Gladio rallies quickly. “They were torturing him! What would you have had me do, huh? Just leave him so they could carry on treatin' him like a fucking _animal_?”

His chest heaves. He's never lost his shit with the marshal before and in his mind's eye he pictures his father's face at such blatant impudence. All his life he’s looked up to Cor even when they haven’t agreed, yet how can he respect the other man when he’s suggesting rescuing Ignis was a mistake?

“You know, I don't for a _second_ regret killin' them. The only reason I’d want them to be alive is so I could kill 'em all over again.”

Cor's looking right at him, unable to miss the fact that he one hundred percent means every word he’s saying. If Cor's angered by the knowledge, it doesn’t show on his face, but then again it never does. It doesn’t colour his words either and yet the calm, monotone is somehow worse.

“What surprised me most is that you still think I don’t know what this is about. You... and Ignis.” Cor pauses and shakes his head. A humourless smile tugs at one corner of his mouth, presumably as he enjoys the shock on Gladio's face. “Your father knew; Regis too. But his majesty convinced Clarus to let you be. I had my reservations but far be it from me to go against his majesty even though I knew that it would cause problems in the end.

“I mean, for a while I was prepared to admit I might be wrong; you were both strong, solid influences on the prince; Ignis is probably one of the most diligent, hard-working people I’ve ever known. But here we are.” Cor's expression darkens as he gestures expansively. “Your duty is to the people, Gladio. You took an _oath_. And yet have you ever considered that if you’d done less thinking with your dick, none of this might have happened?”

“They were torturing him,” Gladio repeats, the words emerging almost painfully between gritted teeth.

“You said. Have you also ever considered that maybe if you’d let Ignis stay with you when went onto Gralea rather than trying to lock him away to keep him safe, Noctis might not have been taken by the crystal?”

“Every fucking day!” Gladio roars, so loud he almost sees stars. He can feel eyes on him—glancing around will show him shocked faces, people drawn in by the angry exchange taking place between them. Cor looks round too, his expression enough to cause some of the onlookers to start walking. In the pause, Gladio's rage has receded, leaving only grief.

“Every fucking day,” he repeats hoarsely, eyes stinging with tears.

Before Cor can say anything else, Gladio spins and hurries away, moving blindly, no destination in mind. He walks quickly, head down, tuned out of the town completely. His feet take him toward the main gate, at which a truck is idling, its exhaust belching noxious black fumes. There are two guys stood near the cab, one gesticulating as the other listens. When he gets closer, the sound of their argument carries over the grumbling engine.

“I swear I told him!”

“Well he ain’t here, is he?”

The taller of the two massages his brow. Gladio's pretty sure he's hunted with him once or twice over the years. Steve or Shaun, something like that. He’s about to say something to the other man when he sees Gladio approaching. Unexpectedly the guy's face fills with relief.

“Gladio. Tell me you’re comin’, man.”

“What. Where?”

“Burbost. It's under attack, but thanks to that fuckin' clown Joseph we're a man short.”

Gladio blinks, taking a moment to process what he’s saying. Of course he’s not been asked to go. His insistence that he stay in Lestallum means Cor never involves him in any Crownsguard business anymore. In the marshal's eyes he's a liability. Untrustworthy. A let down.

“Yeah,” he says before his brain can fully engage. “I’m comin'.”

The other guy looks at him doubtfully. “Where's your stuff?”

“Don’t need it.”

He pushes past them and climbs into the back of the truck, where eight other people—all young men—are crammed in, duffels at their feet. Their expressions are varied—most will know who he is, which accounts for the varied looks of surprise, awe and relief.

Steve or Shaun—fuck, no it's _Shane_ —claps his hands together. “Okay, everyone ready? Let's make tracks.”

The truck rocks as Shane climbs into the cab and guns the engine. Ahead of them, the guards start to open the gates. In the back of the truck silence prevails, although the air is heavy with unspoken questions, mainly about Gladio's presence given that they’re all looking at him and pretending not to. As the truck starts to roll forward, and before it can pick up any kind of speed, Gladio's seized by the urge to jump out. What the fuck is he doing? He can’t leave; Ignis needs him.

As quickly as the thought appears, it’s chased away by another, delivered in scathing, mocking monotone. Ignis doesn’t need him. If anything, Ignis needs to be as far away from him as possible. The truck starts to accelerate, the rumble beneath the tires quietening as they hit the road proper.

Irritated by the unwanted attention, he stares pointedly out the back of the truck and watches the lights of Lestallum quickly retreating into the distance.


	13. Chapter 12

The situation at Burbost is bad, but not the worst Gladio's ever faced. The group of hunters make short work clearing the monsters, but darkness falls before they can reestablish the perimeter fence so the night is spent dealing with any daemons who wander this way. For several hours it’s fairly relentless. But the combat awakens something in him, something he didn’t realise he even needed until it’s fuelling his steps and flooding his muscles. It's a cold, flint-like fury that transforms him into a one-man killing machine and leaves his fellow hunters studying him warily once its all over, because he looks like a man who's not done yet. But the dawn brings an epiphany. _This_ is what he’s good at. He’s a blunt instrument, no use to anyone unless he’s being wielded for violence. What the fuck ever made him think he could be any use to Ignis beyond killing the people responsible for his suffering? No, this is right. Finally he has clarity.

They re-secure Burbost, spending one more night at the outpost before they plan to leave at dawn the next day so they can make it back to Lestallum before dark. Repairing the fences keeps him busy, but the lack of fighting creates an itch he now desperately wants to scratch. He keeps to himself and the other hunters seem perfectly happy with this arrangement. As they climb back into the truck, he catches Shane's arm and pulls him to one side. The man looks startled and, yeah, maybe even a little afraid.

“Hey, on the way back, can you drop me at Meldacio?”

Shane frowns. “You're not coming back to Lestallum?”

“Not yet. Got other stuff to do first.”

When he doesn’t elaborate Shane shrugs. “Sure, whatever, man. We're not stoppin' though so if you change your mind you need to do it sooner rather than later, okay?”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

He won’t change his mind though because for once he’s not burdened by the dilemma of if it’s the right decision or not. Hours later, he still feels exactly the same as he watches the truck speed off into the distance, the occupants anxious to make it to the safety of Lestallum before the daemons come out. He seeks out Griffin, the hunter who coordinates most of the operations out west and tells him what he needs. If the old man thinks it strange, then he doesn’t say anything, but he gives Gladio jobs so he can earn his keep while he waits for the next stage of his plan to happen.

It takes almost a month, but he’s out chopping wood when a shadow falls across the block and he turns to see Griffin and a stranger—a man—sizing him up, his hand on his hip. 

“Gladio, this is Nick. I think he might be able to help you.”

Gladio straightens, wincing at the pull in his back and rests the axe against the block. He wipes an arm against his forehead. 

“That so?” 

Nick nods, still assessing. He carries himself with confidence. Gladio reckons he's mid to late twenties like himself. His eyes are a similar colour to Ignis's. Well, the colour Ignis's _used_ to be. 

“Yeah. We're leaving in a few hours. We could do with a bit more muscle and you definitely look like you could handle yourself.” A grin breaks onto the man's face. ”You’re welcome to join us.”

Gladio says nothing, although it’s undoubtedly true. He doesn’t care that Nick sees him as nothing more than a tool for his own gain. This arrangement will be mutually beneficial if it gets him where he needs to be.

“So, could you be ready to go in a couple hours?”

“Sure,” Gladio replies, thinking about the few possessions he’s managed to acquire since he's been here, all of it permanently packed and ready to go. “I’ll be ready to go when you are.”

OoOoO

Nick's crew consist of six of them; four guys and two ladies. They’re minimally chatty—to him at any rate—which he’s grateful for, since he’s no interest in telling them why he's hitching a ride with them to one of the grimmest places on Eos. The truck starts to head north into familiar territory. They camp beyond the Vesperpool at the haven he stopped at with Ignis when they’d first escaped the wastes. It’s a sobering prospect to think how little Ignis has improved since then. Proof then, that leaving both Ignis and Lestallum was the right thing to do.

They rise early and pack away their tents. Around the campfire, Nick breaks into the high spirited chatter to deliver a sobering reminder that things are going to get infinitely more dangerous from here on out. Gladio says nothing even though he's inclined to agree. A couple of the guys in this crew look like they’re barely out of their teens. He thinks of himself at that age and snorts a quiet laugh. Talk about the arrogance of youth. No fucking idea at all and yet unshakeably confident that he could take on the world. Far be it for him to be the one to break it to them that having brass balls isn’t anywhere near enough. 

But when the hulking mountains appear on the horizon, the atmosphere inside the truck changes. They’ve had a couple of skirmishes, but for the most part they’ve got through the miles on a combination of luck and a truck with decent acceleration. With the road now hemmed in by the twin elevations there’s a increased prospect of having to fight their way through, which Gladio is probably alone in relishing the prospect of. He flexes his hands, ignoring how badly he wants to feel his sword in his grip and make a few things dead.

“Ah, fuck. Twelve o'clock, guys.”

Gladio turns, not sure who it was who said it but the baby-faced guy on his right has eyes like saucers. Collectively they’re drawn to the dark shapes circling in the sky. Wyverns. About fifteen at Gladio's estimate. Nasty fuckers. 

“Nick...” one of them starts to say. 

“I’ve seen them,” Nick yells back, his hands flexing on the wheel. He guns the engine and the truck leaps forward. “Told you it was gonna get hairy fast.”

'Hairy' is probably the milder end of the spectrum Gladio thinks as they blow past a mushussu that’s just emerged from the brush beside the road. Belatedly Gladio realises he never saw the sign that warned of both the start of the Northern Pass and the Butchers. Overhead, the wyverns seem to be keeping apace with the truck.

“Ellis, you might wanna ready up,” Nick shouts, his eyes never leaving the road. Ellis, a tall, well-built guy with skin the colour of midnight gives a sharp nod and reaches beneath his feet. From beneath the truck's bench seat he slides out a long rectangular metal case and goes to work on the snaps. Pushing the lid open reveals what appears to be a rocket launcher. Empire tech from one of the abandoned bases most likely. With calm efficiency, Ellis begins to assemble the weapon and Gladio finds himself revisiting his initial opinion about their greenness. At least they’ve come prepared.

“Ready,” Ellis says only minutes later. Gladio watches as he shoulders the massive weapon and puts his eye to the scope.

“Any time you’re ready,” Nick answers from the front seat. “Brace yourselves, people.”

The truck screeches to a halt, its backend snaking slightly in the dirt. With no further instruction needed, the people riding in the back throw themselves out of the way so Ellis can get into position, using the tailgate of the truck as stability. Collectively they hold their breaths waiting for him to take the shot. Gladio's a fraction of a second away from asking him if he's gonna bother when there's a bang and Ellis rocks back slightly. They trace the rocket's path straight into the chest of a wyvern in the middle of the pack and the ringing in Gladio's ears intensifies at the shriek it gives before it drops from the sky like a stone. It’s a shot Prompto would be proud of and Gladio joins in with the whooping and yelling as the remaining wyverns turn and flee. 

Then Nick floors the gas and they’re moving again, but there's not much time for celebration before he's forced to hit the brakes again. Blocking the road completely are a herd of four bandersnatches. Angry looking fuckers with jaws the size of a family car. 

“Come on, dude,” Nick says to Gladio, eyes shining and grin slightly manic. “Time to earn your ride.”

Gladio does so and finds his own alacrity for a fight met, and then some by Nick and his crew. When everything is dead, they climb back in the truck, driving for a few more minutes before the same happens again. And again. Rinse and repeat. 

They’re travelling again, Gladio now riding shotgun, when Nick puts voice to the thought that’s been circling in Gladio's own mind for the last couple of hours. 

“It's fuckin' wild up here since the Butchers have been gone.”

Gladio's only been up here the once but even with his limited experience the difference is striking.

“You dealt with them?” he asks. 

“Had no choice. Crazy bastards,” Nick says, shaking his head, “but they served a purpose. We just viewed it as a business transaction; part of any of our profits went to buying whatever they requested.”

Just like Arturo and the people of Solerno. 

“Problem is, with them gone you need a bigger crew, more ammo, not to mention how much more dangerous it is. I mean, it's great that it’s driven up the price of meteorshards, but it's redundant when it costs more to get them.”

Gladio finds himself nodding, unable to fault Nick's good business sense. 

“I lost a good friend since they’ve been gone,” Nick says and suddenly Gladio realises he’s talking about a different kind of cost. “I underestimated how much more dangerous the pass had gotten. We nearly all died. Brady gave us chance to escape but paid with his life. That’s on me.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your friend.”

Nick nods, ducking his head slightly to see out of the windshield, even though his crew are all watching for any potential attacks. “Plus now Solerno's gone, we've got nowhere decent to stay up there.”

Gladio's stomach plummets. He knew the substation had fallen but the whole settlement too? 

“What happened to the people there?” he asks even though he’s not sure he really wants to know. 

“Some died, the rest were forced to flee. It’s been a rough few months from what I hear.”

Shit. Hearing the name created a knot of guilt, which is now pulled tighter still. Nick doesn’t say anything else and Gladio is happy to lapse into silence, even though his thoughts are dark and smothering. First Ignis and now these strangers too. _I'm poison_ , he thinks, _everything that comes near me is ruined._

The next time they stop it’s to deal with a particularly sizeable quetzalcoatl. When it’s dead and they’re left sweating and panting from the exertion, Gladio realises the terrain is familiar. Just fifty meters or so up further the road is that unexpected recess where the Butchers made their camp. A perfect location. Still riding the adrenaline, an idea starts to percolate in Gladio's mind. It's crazy—suicide even, but it doesn’t change the fact that Gladio knows it’s truly the answer. There’s no point carrying on up to Solerno. He can’t right that wrong if the town is gone. But this... this he can do.

“Okay everyone. Get your asses back in the truck,” Nick's saying. He stops suddenly, evidently seeing something in Gladio's face. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Gladio answers, pushing his hair back off his face. He goes to the back of the truck and grabs his duffel. “I’m not comin'”

Nick's face folds in on itself, like Gladio’s just announced he's lost the plot completely, which in a way he has.

“You what?”

“I’m not coming,” he repeats calmly. Taking Nick's arm he moves them to one side, away from the others who are now watching curiously. 

“The Butchers... it’s my fault they’re dead.” Before Nick can open his mouth, he adds, “I killed 'em. I had my reasons.”

Nick's eyes narrow; it’s clear that Gladio's deadly serious. His ready humour is gone beneath a wary hostility.

“Yeah? I hope they were fucking good ones.”

“They were. I’m sorry about your friend, I swear. And I never meant to fuck things up for the people in Solerno. But the Butchers were bad fuckin’ people and I didn’t have any other choice. But I get that they served a purpose up here. So that’s why I’m staying.”

The animosity is replaced by disbelief. “What d'you mean you’re staying? You can’t fuckin' stay here.”

Gladio nods absently, his gaze tracking up the path. “Their camp's just up ahead. I'm gonna set myself up there and do what they did. I’m not stupid; I know there's only one of me, but this is what I'm good at. If I can make the Northern Pass even just a bit safer for travellers then it’ll be worth it.”

Nick is about to say something when Ellis leans out of the truck and hollers, “Hey, come on. Let's get moving!”

“Go,” Gladio urges. “Now!”

It’s obvious Nick is torn. In his mind he's abandoning Gladio to his death and no matter how much Gladio is responsible for his friend's death, it probably doesn’t sit right with him to support this suicide attempt.

“Right, listen up,” Nick says, rubbing his brow, “I reckon we'll be heading back down to Lestallum in about three weeks' time. We're gonna call at the camp and if you’re not dead, then I’m gonna offer you the opportunity to ride back with us. Okay?”

“Sure.”

Nick lets out an unhappy sigh, but his body is already angled towards the truck's cab. 

“Tell me you've at least got some potions?”

“Some,” Gladio says, not wanting Nick to know that the precise number is three. He makes a shooing motion. “Seriously, just get outta here.”

“Okay, okay, we're going.” When he's started the engine, Nick leans out of the open window. 

“Last chance.”

“I’m still stayin'.”

“Crazy bastard.” Nick shakes his head. The grin is back. “Don’t die, okay?”

Gladio laughs softly and pats the truck's door. “Don’t plan on it. Take it easy, guys.”

The truck pulls away, Nick now presumably having to explain to his crew why they’re leaving their temporary ally in this inhospitable place. Gladio watches them go, relieved that their leaving doesn’t spark any feelings of regret. If anything he feels lighter—like for once he has a clear plan, free of complicated options that need debating first. He’s not responsible for anyone or beholden to anyone. He doesn’t need to take feelings into account. There are no orders to follow. No parents to disappoint or traditions to obliterate by having the temerity to want something else. Fuelled by this knowledge, he slings his duffel over his shoulder and sets off.

That lightness evaporates somewhat at the sight of the camp.

It’s inevitable that his memories return to the last time he was here. The tents are torn and scattered, the ashes from the campfires long since blown away. But it’s still easy enough to picture Ignis, dragged and stumbling out of the darkness to fall at Cade's feet. Easy enough to imagine the derision and hooting laughter from the rest of the gang, even though the sight of a poor, broken man should have only inspired pity and revulsion for his treatment.

Despite the monsters and daemons and the lack of men to keep them at bay for the last few months, the camp is fortunately salvageable. One reservation he'd had was that it had been left littered with bodies, but unsurprisingly in an area so populace with monsters he finds it picked clean with only some stained patches of ground to show that anyone had ever been here at all.

This awful place will always hold awful memories, and now he must call it home. Although he finally feels like he’s found an opportunity to do some good, being here where Ignis suffered so much is almost physically painful for him. This is truly his penance. 

OoOoO

The cave Gladio remembers as being a trove of stolen treasures still contains everything he needs to get set up. The weapons and the ammo store will give him adequate munitions to deal with threats. He works quickly, but steers clear of the cave where he found Ignis, knowing everything worth a damn from that location is long gone.

With a campfire lit, he sits down to eat. The Butchers were well stocked with provisions so the stuff he’s brought with him stays in his duffel. This further exploration netted him a gas grill, which was no doubt Ignis's domain whilst he was here. The burners are pristine, just the way Ignis liked them at his own apartment. Gladio remembers hanging around while Ignis cooked something for Noct in the vast kitchens at the citadel, assuming Ignis would be excited and impressed by the range of gadgety on offer, when the reality was he was displeased by the state of the gas rings he was expected to cook on. Gladio had laughed, but he’d helped Ignis clean them all the same.

He decides against erecting a tent and makes his bed in the mouth of the cave. At least here he's sheltered from the weather and should any threat arise, he’s only got one direction to defend. In amongst the stash of treasures he finds trinkets designed to repel supernatural entities which he puts on his person and around the cave entrance. They might not contain the potent magic found at havens, but it’s something and possibly goes some way to answering how the Butchers never felt afoul of daemons themselves. 

Satisfied that he's as ready as he can be for any unwelcome visitors, he settles down on his bed roll and prepares to get some rest. 

OoOoO

Sleep eludes him for hours. Lying in the darkness, he tries to imagine what it must have been like for Ignis here. To be alone and afraid. Every noise he hears—was sound a comfort or a source of fear? He pictures Ignis in that godsdamned fucking _hole_ , cowering on his bed, hearing the sound of approaching footsteps and wondering what fresh horror they would bring. So ingrained that terror must have been that when rescue finally came, Ignis still couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

He allows his mind to drift to Ignis now, surely lying in a proper bed, under warm blankets, his belly full of whatever Prompto has cooked for him. Maybe Iris is helping too. Maybe they've all finally realised why he'd been reluctant to bring too many people around, even though they only had the best of intentions. They’ll be doing a good job. A better job than he was doing at any rate. He pulls his own blanket tighter against the chill of the night and eventually drifts into a dreamless sleep. 

Despite his bedroll, the hard ground draws a groan out of him when he wakes. The sky is already starting to lighten—a quick glance at his watch confirms that the dawn is inching ever later still—and he drags himself vertical, wanting to capitalise on the day ahead. He washes, changes and eats and gives himself the order that it’s time to get started.

First things first, he kits himself out with a range of weapons. Obviously he’s able to access his own from the armiger, but like Nick and his crew, it's sensible to make sure he’s covered for all eventualities. This time he will have to be Prompto and Ignis too and the knowledge of that leaves him feeling a strange mixture of melancholy and excited anticipation. He’s got a good idea what creatures and what daemons inhabit this part of the world; his job is simply to reduce their number. Suitably loaded up, he heads out. 

The recess where the Butchers set up camp is flanked by sheer cliff faces, so there's little danger here, aside potentially from flying creatures. As he's already seen there are wyverns in The Wastes, but the risk must have been small or the camp wouldn’t exist at all. Obviously they made use of a lookout system, enabling them to either take shelter in the caves when the creatures were overhead, or to actively encourage them to attack, knowing, like Nick's crew, they had the firepower to deal with them.

For now, Gladio takes himself back onto the road, mentally tossing a coin to decide whether to head further north or back south. In the end, he opts to go north, having never got any further than the Butchers' camp on both occasions he’s come here. He’s not walked for long when there's the sound of rustling up ahead and two coeurls burst from the bushes, their long tails lashing the ground as they gallop towards him. 

He summons his masamune; his great sword is too slow for coeurls especially without the others, and he catches the nearest beast in a downward arc. Unfortunately it's too quick and his blade only takes a nick out of its shoulder rather than taking off its head. The coeurl snarls and darts out of range, so quickly Gladio’s eyes struggle to keep up with its movements. 

At the last second he realises the second coeurl has gotten behind him and he spins, bringing his sword up and preventing the creature from taking a chunk out of his head. With the coeurl pushed up against his sword, he summons a dagger and jams it into its chest. The howl it gives almost bursts Gladio's eardrums, but his aim is good and it dies instantly, leaving him with only its partner to take out. For a second he thinks it’s going to turn tail and run, but they’re vengeful fuckers and it’s on him before he can push off the carcass of the one he just killed. The dagger comes in handy a second time, but not before he takes a set of claws to his forearm.

“Fuck,” he grunts, sending his weapons back to the armiger and grimacing distastefully at the bleeding welts across his skin. Not a great start. Checking he’s not about to be jumped by anything else, he patches himself up and sets off again up the road.

By midday he's exhausted. In truth he’s lost track of how many things he’s killed, but they just keep coming so he makes the decision to retreat to the relative safety of the camp. Once rested and eaten he feels better so he goes out again, this time south, and takes some more creatures off the board. His tally isn’t quite as high this time, but he’s able to return with some fresh meat which will set him up nicely for the next few days at least. That night he sleeps the sleep of the dead and doesn’t think of Ignis—or anything for that matter—at all.

That first day sets a pattern, where he hunts and kills anything that crosses his path. He starts to widen his radius from camp, an ever increasing circle of bloodshed. As well as the road, he starts to go up, following the paths up onto the mountains on either side of the pass. He has a couple of heart-stopping encounters where he almost loses his footing; a mistake that could easily prove fatal at this elevation, but if anything the danger only adds to the thrill of what he’s doing.

On a few occasions, he hears and sometimes sees a vehicle driving through the pass. The times he’s close enough to the road, he contemplates making himself known to the travellers, but ultimately decides against it for reasons he can’t quite fathom. So he sees no one until, true to Nick's word, the truck that he arrived in pulls into camp three weeks and four days after they dropped him off. 

As Nick kills the engine, his crew pile out. Gladio, who'd been in the cave parcelling up fresh cockatrice meat when he’d heard the sound of the truck emerges to see them studying the camp in wonder. Since it only needs to accommodate him, he’s reduced the size of the area he occupies, which has enabled him to surround the perimeter with the talismans that keep the daemons out. With those he can rest, or sit around a campfire, knowing he’s protected, at night at least. 

“Fuck me, he’s still alive,” Nick says, grinning as he shakes Gladio's hand. “Ellis I guess I owe you fifty.”

Gladio laughs. “Turns out I’m not that killable.”

“Evidently.” Nick shakes his head. “I still think you’re crazy, man.”

It’s a fair point. What he’s doing is insane, but so far he’s still alive and the numbers of both daemons and monsters in the area are steadily reducing so it’s not an insanity he’s about to put a stop to. 

“You guys hungry?” he asks. “I just got a load of fresh cockatrice meat and was gonna start cookin'.”

Glances exchanged, eager smiles, whoops of 'fuck yeah!' He knows well the anticipation of eating something that doesn’t come in a packet. 

“Make yourselves at home,” Gladio says with a wave of his hand as he turns to head back to the cave. 

“Can I help?”

The voice catches him unexpectedly. He turns and finds himself face to face with a petite woman with an elven face and short, dark hair. He scans his memory for her name, finds it amidst the jumble of watching her massacre an entire group of goblins single-handedly. 

“Uh, Eve, right?”

She nods.

“Sure, if you want to.”

Eve reminds him of Ignis, even though he wants to pretend she doesn’t. It's not just the skilled athleticism in battle, or being the only member of Nick's crew interested in food beyond the act of eating it, but she’s quietly intense and probably underestimated by a good ninety-five percent of everyone she meets.

He allows her to go through the provisions and she emerges with an armful of herbs that will turn the cockatrice meat into something a billion times more exciting than anything he could have prepared. She doesn’t speak again until she notices his questioning gaze. She's holding two mason jars.

“Just looking at these,” she says holding out one of the jars for Gladio to inspect. Someone's scratched these symbols into them, like... what is it?” 

Whatever she sees in his face causes her to stop. He hands back the jar. 

“The person these belonged to is blind.”

Eve frowns. “But this was the Butchers' camp?”

“Yeah,” Gladio heads over to the workbench set up beside the grill. Ignis's grill. He dumps the raw meat onto the cleared surface, and rests his hands either side of it on the countertop. 

“Yeah. He wasn’t one of the gang. He was my”— _Heart? Soulmate?_ —“friend, and they captured him and kept him here to look after them. He cooked for them and they thanked him by torturing him here for years.”

His eyes remain fixed on the meat, not wanting to see Eve's reaction, whatever it is.

“Makes sense.”

His head snaps up. “What d'you mean?”

Eve shrinks back, then rallies. She's small but she reminds him a lot of Aranea. “Nick said you were the one that killed the Butchers.”

His mouth is open, readying his defence when she says, “I’d definitely have done the same thing.”

Then with a shrug the conversation is over and she’s measuring out the ingredients. Definitely like Aranea. 

OoOoO

An hour later they’re all sitting down to eat, arranged around the campfire that drives the encroaching darkness back. Gladio discovers they’ve come away with a decent yield of meteorshards and all are in agreement that the road back down has been less challenging. It confirms to Gladio that he’s doing the right thing.

Before they leave the following morning, Nick approaches him again while the others are collapsing their tents.

“You sure you don’t wanna come back with us?” he asks, hands dug into his pockets as Gladio assembles his weaponry for the day. 

Gladio pauses, his hand full of shotgun shells even though there’s nothing to consider. 

“I need to stay.” He ducks his head, away from those eyes so alike Ignis's. “There’s nothing for me back in Lestallum so I may as well stay here where I can do some good.”

“Well, I ain’t gonna pretend your efforts aren't appreciated, but this can't be the life you want, Gladio.”

“Maybe not.” Gladio studies the gun in his hand and offers Nick a shrug and a weak smile. “But it’s the life I deserve.”

Nick and his crew leave within the hour. As the truck disappears into the distance, Gladio blows out a long breath. He’s doing the right thing. Having people around is just too complicated if you want to follow your own path. If he goes back to Lestallum he’ll be right back where he started: hurting Ignis, following Cor's orders and consumed by guilt about the situation he’s created up here. No, he's staying. 

Nick assured him they’ll be back and he’s happy to fetch any supplies, so he'll be okay here on his own. Before they'd left, Gladio had exacted a promise that they'd keep his identity hidden from anyone who might ask, but he’d asked Nick to pass a message to Griffin, who in turn could get word to Cor and the others. _Just tell them I'm okay and that I’m sorry_. 

Then he goes out and kills things.

The following day looks exactly the same, as does the day after that. And the day after that. Time loses meaning, but he estimates it’s at least a month before he comes into contact with another human being and that’s reduced to a wave in a truck that blows past him through the pass. A few more weeks go by and Nick and his crew return. They bring ammo and dried goods and fish they caught at the Vesperpool and he gives them some of the bandersnatch meat he prepared the day before. Nicks laugh at the ‘mountain man' look he’s cultivating, and Gladio realises he can’t remember the last time he trimmed his beard. What’s the point when there’s no one here to see it?

They spend the night at camp and Gladio is glad of the company, even though he wouldn’t extend the same invitation to any other travellers unless in an emergency. He tells them about his work and the near miss he had with some necromancers. They fill him in on what's going on in the wider world. He doesn’t ask about Lestallum. When they leave again, the mountains revert to that lonely, inhospitable place. He returns to killing things to fill the void.

Despite the reducing daylight hours, it’s still possible to observe the changing seasons. As winter draws in, the nights become unbearably cold. The mountains are blanketed in snow. Dragging himself from his bed becomes harder and harder and he entertains the not completely unwelcome possibility that he'll go to sleep one night and not wake up at all in the morning. When Nick's crew appear during a rare break in the snow he almost caves at their encouragement to go back with them.

But he sticks it out, and the seasons start to shift once again. The snow disappears and the struggle of living here eases. He thinks of Ignis and Iris and all the others in Lestallum and tells himself that they’re doing okay. He misses them desperately. But while there are still things to kill, his place isn’t with them.

OoOoO

Six months becomes a year. When things are going well he embraces the outdoor life and the freedom of his solitude. Some days he climbs into the mountains where the view over Lucis is simply breathtaking and just sits, reminiscing about the time the four of them climbed Ravatogh together. When things aren’t so good, it feels like a mockery of the dream he clung to in Insomnia, of him and Ignis living away from the rat race, at one with nature. This... well, this is pretty damn close with one obviously painful difference.

It’s fair to say Ignis still haunts his dreams. Sometimes he sees him, cowering at Cade's feet, awaiting a beating that's almost certainly coming. Other times it’s the huddled figure lying amidst the broken glass in his kitchen. When he dreams of Ignis, it’s almost impossible to get back to sleep afterwards. 

Eventually though he has to admit to himself that defending the pass doesn’t sustain him in the same way it did at first. He's into his second year now, and the lifestyle is hard on his body, just as the loneliness is tough on his mind. He gets injured from time to time, but he’s able to patch himself up and get back out there because if he benches himself, who will take over?

Nick and his crew pass through every couple of months. They replenish his supplies and swap stories even though he feels like he’s nothing to tell them. Nick takes him to one side and asks if he’s okay because they can see that he’s not. Eve in particular is quiet around the camp fire and whenever he glances at her she looks away. But still he stays.

As the hours of darkness increase, he spends more time fighting daemons than monsters. They're stronger and much more deadly and it's taking its toll. He considers the reality that he might die here and is startled to realise that it doesn’t scare him as much as it should. _I’m just so fucking tired._

Winter arrives again. This time he’s better prepared when the temperature plummets, but he still feels his will to survive waning. The months are torturous and when he catches a glimpse of himself in a mirrored surface he actually recoils at what he sees. Eventually the thaw happens. 

He wakes one morning to see the snow has gone and almost weeps with relief. He tells himself he’s ready to get back out there, even though it feels like an age before he can actually convince his body to move. Once he's dressed and has eaten, he sets off for the mountains.

He’s not gone far before he picks up some havocfang tracks. Following them upward, he winces at the pain in his feet. His boots started rubbing a couple of weeks ago and are getting steadily worse, despite the insulation tape he used to fix them. Nick should be due to come by soon so he'll have to ask him to get him a new pair if he can. 

The trail curves to the right. He wrinkles his nose at the droppings he steps over, eyes flicking in all directions in case of an ambush. In the night he heard a roaring sound that he couldn’t place. The noise had been familiar but dredging his memories had been unsuccessful and by morning he couldn’t be sure if he’d dreamt it or not. 

The path widens out. At one time this place used to be a wyvern's nest but he'd managed to clear them and they’ve not returned. Now there are a pack of havocfangs huddled together. They haven’t spotted him so he observes them for a couple of minutes, realising that they’re in the middle of devouring something—a spiracorn judging by the lifeless head that flops as one of them rips into the meat of its neck. May as well capitalise on the element of surprise.

Charging forward, he summons his great sword at the same time and kills the two nearest beasts before they can even turn around. The other five react almost instantly, and he's quickly driven back. Teeth gritted he swings the weapon in an arc, catching one as it goes to leap out of the way. It howls in outrage and the cessation of its attack is enough for him to tackle its packmates. As he's reducing their numbers further, one manages to make contact with his leg and he gasps as the claws rake across his skin. He staggers back, then strikes again, driving his blade deep into the animal's chest. 

There's only one left now and it prowls in front of him, planning its next move. Gladio glances back and finds he's closer to the edge than he'd like, but one havocfang isn’t going to be a problem. He adjusts his stance and readies himself for the attack that will inevitably come. And then, despite the fact that it’s hunting 101 not to take your eyes off your opponent, his eyes are dragged upward to the zu that appears over the mountain and fuck—that's where he knows the roaring sound from. The sky darkens, he’s mesmerised by its size and that’s all the distraction the havocfang needs as it leaps towards him. 

He has a split second to feel proud that his reactions haven’t completely gone to shit because he manages to bring up his sword and get the havocfang across the neck. But it’s a fleeting moment of positivity because the beast's momentum sends him backwards and suddenly the ground beneath his feet has gone. 

He falls. Then lands. Then rolls, the breath stolen from his lungs. He swears, or at least he thinks he does, maybe it’s just in his head. Something snaps in his arm, followed by a sickening crunch as his ribs make contact with a rock. He rolls some more. His head feels like the time Iris insisted he take her on a ride at the fair even though he'd told her spinning things made him sick.

And then it stops. Eventually his eyes come back under his control and he realises he's lying in the road having fallen and rolled the sixty or seventy feet off the trail he’d climbed to. The groan that escapes his lips is involuntary. He needs to get up. Anything just lying around is as good as dead. Problem is, he can’t get his body to agree with him. 

Overhead the zu circles. Even his foggy brain tells him trying to fight that big fucking bird in his current condition is an extremely bad idea. Best he just get some sleep first.


	14. Chapter 13

“Gladio. Hey, Gladio! Come on, buddy, time to wake up.”

Mmm. That’s all well and good if you’re still alive, but being dead makes everything a little bit harder.

“You’re not dead, dickhead. Thought you were supposed to be unkillable.”

Huh. So he said that out loud. The other speaker's words feel familiar, as does the voice now he thinks about it. The curiosity gets the better of him and he tries to open his eyes.

“There you go; wakey wakey, sunshine. Think you’ve had enough sleep for now.”

“Fuck off, Prompto,” Gladio growls, closing his eyes again.

“Prompto? Who's he? I saved his ass and he's thinks I’m someone else. Some gratitude that is!”

Gladio's pretty sure there’s someone else there too, but tracking two voices is beyond him in his present state. Whatever that is. He groans loudly, which is all he can say about things then promptly goes back to sleep.

The next time the voice speaks to him, it sounds a little more pissed and insistent. He's pretty sure it says something about ‘meteorshards' and 'how hanging around here is eating into their profits', which frankly makes no fucking sense. He deals with the confusion by letting the blackness take him once again. 

Eventually he has to accept that he’s not meant to stay in this void and he makes a more concerted effort to open his eyes and keep them open. A fuzzy shape starts to come into focus but it takes him a while to place the face even when his vision is pretty much back to normal. Eve. From Nick's crew. She’s sitting up with her arms folded and eyes closed. Her lips are slightly parted and a soft snore emerges. Gladio smiles to himself for a moment as he lies there before he inevitably has to turn his attention to himself. 

His right arm is splinted and he instantly regrets trying to breathe in too deeply as his ribs fire a warning shot to not do it again. Getting up seems like a bad idea too. He swallows and winces at the dryness of his throat, no choice but to clear it. Inevitably it wakes Eve, whose eyes widen when she sees him staring back at her.

“Hey.” His voice is like gravel. 

A smile breaks onto her face. “Good to have you back—well—again.”

Gladio groans and covers his eyes. “Oh gods... I wasn’t talking was I?”

Her eyes cut away. She’s smirking. So that’s a yes then. 

“You thought Nick was someone called Prompto.”

“Great.”

“And—”

She stops abruptly, the humour suddenly gone from her expression. 

“What is it?”

“You were crying at one point and calling out for someone.”

His heart's already sinking, but hears himself ask the question anyway.

“Who?”

“Someone called Ignis.”

OoOoO

Eve leaves him be for a while saying she’s going to start preparing them something to eat. Valiantly resisting the urge to go back to sleep, Gladio lies there listening to the sounds of her moving around camp while contemplating how impressed his body is going to be by asking it to move. Not very is the answer, but eventually Gladio is able to get up. He staggers out of the cave and joins Eve at the campfire, surprised to see that she's on her own. As he eases himself down, mindful of his ribs, she holds out a plate. He accepts it gratefully, his stomach already excited at the prospect of something going in it. It’s some kind of stew and it smells amazing.

“Where are the others?” he asks, looking around although not before taking his first mouthful. Fuck, it’s good.

“When we were certain you were gonna pull through, I told them to carry on and I’d stay here with you.” She smiles. “Nick starts to get twitchy if we get too far off schedule.”

“Well I'm glad you showed up when you did.”

“Mmm,” she agrees, chewing and swallowing before she adds, “seriously. We did _not_ expect to find you lying in the middle of the road. We were even more shocked when we realised you weren’t dead.”

“I bet,” he replies, picturing the scene. “If you’d come just one day later I probably would have been.”

They eat in silence for several minutes. He can feel the weight of her unasked questions and when his meal is gone, something compels him to answer them.

“The person I was calling out for. Ignis. He’s the man the Butchers kept prisoner here.” He places his empty plate on the floor and clasps his hands on his knees. “I told you he was my friend, but that wasn’t true.” He looks up, meeting her gaze directly. “I love him.”

“Where is he now?”

“In Lestallum—I think. Obviously it’s been a while since I was last there.”

“Why'd you leave?”

Good question, long story. He sighs at the prospect of trying to explain it. 

“Because I was hurting him. Even though it was unintentional, I kept doing the wrong things and I couldn’t bear to make him suffer anymore than he already had. When he was injured—when he lost his sight—everything went wrong because I was trying to protect him, and then I rescued him and found myself making the same mistakes again. I was trying to do what I thought was best for him, keeping him away from the world.” He shakes his head. “I was no better than the Butchers.”

Eve opens her mouth, presumably to argue that point, but he waves it away.

“All my life I’ve railed against being controlled by others. Everything, always had to be run past someone else or it was just a straight 'no'. And I had to take it—all of it—because I had this privileged, wonderful life.” He studies the ground for a moment, surprised by how bitter he still sounds despite the passage of years. “All I wanted was just to follow my own path.”

He realises he's drifted from his original point. “I hated being controlled and yet that was exactly what I did to Ignis. So instead of staying and fucking things up for everyone I decided to come out here. The Butchers are gone because of me. I know that affected a lot of people and although I won’t ever regret what I did, doing this has at least meant I can finally do some good.”

Eve doesn’t respond for a moment, but her expression is thoughtful. 

“Don’t you get lonely?”

There's no point in lying. “Yeah, but when you’re on your own no one can control you.”

Eve frowns at that. “But is it _really_ control if you have to live like this?”

His expression contorts several times as he thinks he’s got a good answer, but then realises he hasn’t. 

“Okay, never mind,” she says, like his silence has confirmed what she suspected anyway. “Be brutally honest—is this solution making you happy?”

He opens his mouth and then stops, the words lodged in his throat. He feels useful, sure. He’s doing a good thing, with visible consequences. But happy? 

“No,” he says softly. “I guess not.”

OoOoO

Her words stay with him as he lays down to sleep. His arm and his ribs are aching, but he doesn’t want to break into his precious supply of pain relief if he can help it. Frankly it’s fucking terrifying how exhausted he is just from being vertical for a few hours. As he lies there staring up at the cave ceiling, he replays their conversation. Before he'd wished her goodnight she'd told him she thought he deserved to be happy.

But it isn’t that easy. He doesn’t expect people to understand the burden of royal duties. How could they? Most people get a say over their own life's journey, but not him. He'd put that to her, without giving any of the actual details, but she'd simply shrugged, unfazed.

_Guess it's about working out if this solution means you're finally getting what you wanted._

And no. He can say with all certainty that he isn’t. 

OoOoO

Although he worries about not being out there on the pass, Gladio accepts that there's nothing he can do until he's recovered. Ultimately he’s also forced to accept that having Eve around is nice. She appears to be okay with solitude as much as he is, so her presence doesn’t feel intrusive. They cook together and play cards in the evening and as his strength returns, she trains with him, mindful that he’s not one hundred percent yet. Eventually he feels well enough to hunt and she accompanies him, her gaze watchful in case he's pushing himself too hard. A few times they’ve seen the zu circling overhead, but there’s no question of tackling that particular issue yet.

Despite things moving in the right direction, it’s a blow to see how many creatures and daemons are back in the wastes because of the weeks he’s been out of action. Because he’s still compromised when they do manage to hunt it feels like two steps forward and three back. Doubt creeps in. What happens if he gets injured again? What happens as he gets older? He tries not to dwell on it too much because there are no ready answers.

Weeks pass and they arrive back from a hunt to find Nick's truck parked at camp. The occupants are also waiting and they all greet him warmly, with handshakes and back slaps. They quickly make themselves at home and Gladio realises the familiarity is welcome. As they sit around the campfire, talking and laughing it’s easy enough to remember how happy being with Ignis and Noct and Prompto had made him. After they’d left Insomnia, even after the shit had hit the fan back home, those nights camping had been some of the best of his life. 

Nick approaches him the following morning.

“Eve told me about the zu. Figured we'd stay around for a while to give you a hand. One of those big bastards around could definitely be bad for business.”

It’s a relief and Gladio readily accepts the assistance. Together they hunt and gradually start to regain the ground he'd lost. Eventually the time comes to tackle the zu, but the relief when it’s dead is tempered by the realisation that Nick and his crew will now leave. He seeks isolation, taking himself off into the mountains, but Eve finds him anyway. She joins him, just looking at the view for several minutes before she says, “I figured, if it was okay with you, that I’d stay for a bit longer.”

He turns to look at her, but it’s a while before she meets his gaze. She looks nervous, like she’s expecting to be knocked back. He shakes his head and laughs softly.

“Why the fuck would you wanna stay up here?”

She shrugs. “Guess I’m tired of moving around.”

“Have you spoken to Nick?”

“Yeah, we talked earlier. He says it’s up to me. Plus he says someone needs to keep you alive when you go falling off mountains.”

They share a laugh. Then reality kicks in, sobering Gladio's mood. “I gotta warn you, it's pretty fuckin' bad here in the winter. I just want you to know what you’re in for.”

“Mmm, yeah. Nick said the same, but that got him thinking. He says when you’re done brooding up here, he wants to talk to you about something.”

“For fuck's sake, can’t a guy brood in peace?” he says, rolling his eyes.

“Evidently not,” she says, standing back up and holding out her hand to him. “Come on. Let’s see what he's thinking.”

OoOoO

“An outpost,” Nick says, his eyes glittering with enthusiasm as he gestures around the camp. “Right here. Just like the others. High fences, floodlights. _Heating_.” He raises his eyebrows and waggles them like he’s dangling a particularly tasty carrot. “Accommodation so that hunters can be posted here. A team to defend the pass, like the Butchers only... less murdery.”

He stops speaking, awaiting Gladio's response, which is nothing more brilliant than, “I dunno...”

Nick rolls his eyes dramatically. “Come on, man. What’s your alternative? Sure, Eve's up for staying but believe me as great as she is, you _will_ get sick of her conversation eventually—”

“Fuck you!” she interjects, her cheeks colouring as she launches a small rock at his head. He ducks and points accusingly. 

“ _And_ she cheats at cards.”

“Fuck you again!”

“Hey,” Gladio says, “I hear you and it’s not a bad idea. But what about the practicalities? Materials, labour, etcetera?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nick says, coming to sit down across from Gladio. “I already talked to someone over at Exineris and they said they'd be willing to help with costs. We can bring materials up here when we come; believe it or not, Ellis here is as good with a nail gun as he is with a rocket launcher.”

Without looking up from his cards, Ellis gives him a salute.

“I’m not saying it’s gonna happen overnight,” Nick continues, “but it’s a million times better than the alternative.”

And it is. Because whatever Gladio's feelings are on the matter, it’s obvious that he can’t do it alone. Not long term anyway. He realises he’s on a precipice, his life about to change again.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “Let’s do this.”

OoOoO

The decision turns out to be an easy one because, as Nick predicted, nothing immediately changes. He falls into a new routine sharing camp with Eve and comes to realise that having someone else around doesn’t mean he has to relinquish control over his life. When they talk, he tells her about Ignis. It still hurts, but he wants the truth out there. For the most part she listens, but occasionally she posits the idea that he should return to Lestallum. To Ignis. 

And he always says no. He doesn’t bother to justify his answer because they both know the simplest answer is usually the right one and the simplest answer in this case is fear.

One day a truck pulls into camp driven by a guy Gladio doesn’t recognise. He’s wary until the guy mentions Nick's name and pulls back the tarp on his flatbed truck to reveal panels of sturdy wire fencing. The same happens again a few weeks later; floodlights this time. Despite not knowing the people, they know him. They’re all meteorshard miners or traders or hunters who’ve benefitted from his work over the last few years and they’re here because they want to give something back. Their gratitude is touching. Sometimes they stay at camp and help with the construction for a few weeks. In exchange Gladio and Eve offer them hospitality and their connection to the outside world is reestablished. 

With a secure perimeter built, work then begins on the buildings. Gladio's no expertise in this respect so it’s a relief when more materials arrive with construction plans and some workers who are confident in executing them. The design is simple, but it provides bedrooms and bathrooms and a small mess hall with cooking facilities; enough accommodation for ten hunters.

Over the months, some of these places are filled organically. Gladio can’t predict who will stay and who will decide they’re just passing through. Some do move on, and word eventually filters through that efforts are now turning to rebuilding Solerno and the other settlements up north. Despite the inhospitable conditions in the wastes, the outpost becomes a contented place. His time is now split between hunting and organising the others as they do the same. The less frenetic pace does wonders for him physically. So does having an actual bed. Winter still sees off some of the less hardy souls who head back to civilisation when the snow blankets the mountains for weeks on end. But for Gladio, now in his third winter up here, it’s like living in the lap of luxury. 

As they wait out the thaw, a restlessness starts to steal across him. It frustrates him that he can’t pinpoint the cause. For so long he told himself that the only thing that ever tempted him to take Nick up on his offer to leave was how physically hard the living conditions were. With that issue addressed, the urge to go back to Lestallum should surely have disappeared. And yet the pull, to Lestallum—and Ignis—feels stronger than ever.

OoOoO

Work resumes on the outpost when winter ends. There are five of them here permanently now, but the change of the season will bring others. Eve comments that he’s quiet; she knows him well enough by now to sense when his mind is elsewhere more often than it’s here. He insists he's fine and waves off her and Gabe as they disappear into the mountains to hunt together. He watches them go, smiling. Something's growing between them; Eve insists there isn’t but the flush that creeps onto her cheeks makes a liar of her. He tells her if it’s what she wants, then she should grab it by both hands and not let go. He pretends not to see the pointed _practise what you preach_ look she shoots back at him before she leaves.

Once they’ve gone, he gets to work on the timber that was dropped off a few days earlier. The next job is to construct some decent storage. They still make use of the caves, but to have something they can organise properly will be better for the long term survival of the outpost. He smooths out the plans for the frame and pins them with a couple of rocks. Sometimes he forgets that once upon a time he couldn’t do any of this. Grabbing a saw and the first piece of timber he prepares to lose himself in some good, honest work. 

“Hey, Gladio. Someone here to see you.”

He downs tools, annoyed at the disruption and annoyed with himself for still carrying the hope that he’ll turn and it’ll be Ignis standing there. It’s not—it never is—but he’s still surprised because standing next to Isaac is Prompto Argentum. He looks well, aside from the crazy attempt at a beard he’s got sprouting on his chin, although given the direction of Prompto's gaze he’s probably having similar thoughts about Gladio's mountain man look. Perhaps more importantly though, he doesn’t look as though he’s come here to kill Gladio despite how they parted. 

Gladio stands and brushes his hands off on his pants, stalling. He’s thought a lot over the years about what he'd say to people if he saw them again and now Prompto's here and he can’t think of a damn thing. Why's he here? Panic takes flight in his chest. Maybe something's happened to Ignis or Iris.

Prompto nods his thanks to Isaac who then heads back to camp, his boots scuffing noisily in the dirt. When he meets Gladio’s eyes he's smiling and the fluttering sensation in Gladio's stomach eases a little. Bad news doesn’t follow an expression like that.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Prompto echoes. “Long time no see, huh?”

“Somethin' like that.”

The following pause feels awkward, as it should. He took off—even now he refuses to say ran away—and left everyone he loved to deal with the fallout. And somehow he’s managed to avoid thinking about it, which is pretty impressive given how long he's lived with only himself for company. Not so easy to do with one of these people stood right in front of him though.

“Why you here, Prompto?”

Still smiling, Prompto offers him a lazy shrug. There’s a confidence in him that Gladio doesn’t remember from before. It simultaneously annoys and impresses him. 

“I was out at Meldacio a while back and I heard some interesting talk. Something about the Northern Pass being defended single-handedly by 'a giant of a man with a sword as big as himself'. I mean, you know how hunters talk, but when I’d heard a couple of variations of the same story then I figured I should come see for myself.”

After a moment, Gladio spreads his hands. “Guilty as charged.”

Prompto's still watching him, eyes narrowed. “Okay... Why?”

The question is stupid because the answer is obvious. And yet somehow at the same time it’s not. He wants to explain how this is all about righting a wrong, but given the shitshow he left behind in Lestallum, Prompto's entitled to call it what it is—hiding. Instead Gladio opts for deflection. 

“How's Ignis doing?”

Now he’s the one doing the scrutinising. Would Prompto lie to him? There don’t seem to be any signs of deception, but his people skills are probably a bit rusty at this point so what would he know.

“He’s doing good,” Prompto replies, nodding. He strokes at the wiry hairs on his chin. “Look Gladio, how about we grab a drink and catch up properly?”

And despite everything, Gladio realises that he really wants to.

OoOoO

According to Prompto everyone he left behind in Lestallum is doing well, although Iris is _seriously_ pissed with him and has made clear she will tear him a new one when she claps eyes on him again. Gladio nods politely and asks questions that don’t require long explanations because now he knows his sister is okay, all he’s really interested in is hearing about Ignis. Prompto explains that he moved into Gladio's apartment after he left to care for Ignis. He glosses over the literal and metaphorical broken pieces he will have picked up in the immediate aftermath of Gladio's departure and tells him how slowly, bit by bit, Ignis has emerged from the wreckage of the man Gladio found in this very part of the world. 

Gladio senses Prompto's keeping things vague to spare his feelings, but he tells him no, he wants to know everything that Ignis has achieved in his absence. So Prompto tells him, his features coming alive like a proud parent talking about his child's firsts. And in a way, it’s an accurate comparison. Gladio realises his cheeks are wet as Prompto tells him about Ignis speaking for the first time, about him leaving the apartment for the first time, about him making a decision about his own future for the first time. He listens and heeds Prompto's gentle warning that Ignis is still a very different man from the one who left Insomnia, but he’s healing and frankly, that’s fucking _everything_. 

Then it's Prompto's turn to ask the questions and Gladio tells him about the years he spent alone. How he nearly died but was saved by Nick and Eve, who stayed with him despite repeated attempts to make her go. How he was persuaded to let others share the burden of defending the Northern Pass and how the construction of the outpost is almost complete and although that’s great, he's starting to feel like he doesn’t belong here anymore. He pauses suddenly, realising he’s never actually said it out loud until now.

“You want to know what I think?” Prompto says, his expression solemn as the flames from the campfire flicker and dance across his features. “I think it’s time for you to come back.”

“To Lestallum?” Gladio says, which is stupid because where else would Prompto mean. He snorts and shakes his head. “I reckon there’s probably only Ardyn Izunia who'd be more unwelcome than me.”

Prompto chuckles at that but it’s quickly followed by a frown. “I think you’re overstating things slightly there, big guy.”

“Yeah? You don’t think Cor will run me out of town the moment he knows I’m back?”

“Believe it or not, Cor doesn’t own Lestallum”—Gladio takes a second to gape at that, because Prompto's either crazy or he’s developed some serious balls in the time he’s been gone—“Plus, I think the marshal's come to realise that he was a bit harsh on you back then.”

Now Gladio's eyebrow raises involuntarily. “You're kiddin'?”

“Nope.” Prompto shakes his head, but his expression is suddenly somber. “He visited Ignis shortly after you left town. I needed him to know I couldn’t suddenly take off on a mission and I figured there was no other way to make him understand. I don’t think he realised how bad Ignis was until he saw for himself. He understands why you did what you did.”

Processing that, Gladio nods. He doesn’t need Cor's validation—he’s always been totally at peace with killing those assholes—but it's good to have it anyway. And yeah, maybe he should have thought of that. He’d been so determined to protect Ignis that he’d prevented others—those who could have helped—from knowing how bad it was. He imagines himself in front of the marshal. There’s serious amounts of water under the bridge; the grudge he held has burned itself out. Another concern gnaws at him more strongly.

“Ignis...” He swallows, but his voice is still hoarse. “Will he even talk to me? I don’t wanna do anything that could hurt him or set him back in his recovery.”

Prompto smiles at this, evidently pleased that Gladio is putting Ignis first. “He knows about the stories from Meldacio. He knew if I came up here that I’d be asking around. I put it to him that if I found anything out about you—good or bad—whether he’d want to know. He said he would and that if a miracle occurred and I actually found you, I could give you a message.”

“Which is?”

“That forever is a long time, but it's as good a length of time as any.”

Gladio can feel himself staring but his eyes are starting to feel hot again and he has to blink several times and look away. A warmth spreads across his chest. Hope. He’s still not convinced he deserves to have anything good happen, but it’s impossible not to want it, no, _crave_ it. 

“So you'll consider coming back?” Prompto persists.

Gladio glances around at the outpost, to the buildings that only require their finishing touches now. He catches a glimpse of Eve, brush in hand. She’s laughing and saying something to Gabe, to which he flicks paint at her playfully in response. They don’t need him now. 

Realising he hasn’t given Prompto an answer, he nods. “I’ll think about it,” he says, which they both know is a yes. The way Prompto's expression brightens tells him it’s the right decision. Gladio studies him for a moment, suddenly filled with affection for this man who became first an unlikely ally and then an unlikely friend. It startles him to realise he’s missed Prompto. Really missed him. He’s been an idiot. Striking out on his own and shutting others out wasn’t the solution to gaining control over his own life. His memory takes him back to Cape Caem, when they’d finally returned to Lucis and found the house abandoned.

With yet another setback in his quest to be reunited with Ignis, he’d found himself unable to believe why Prompto would be there without the bonds of duty chaining him to his choices. _I guess I prefer to follow my instincts_. At the time Gladio had been dismissive, thinking Prompto naive. Seems like it wasn’t Prompto who was the naive one after all. 

“I never thanked you,” he says abruptly. Prompto's head jerks up, the question in his eyes. “When we made it back to Tenebrae and Cor said we had to stay to take charge of the troops he was gonna send to get Noct back. All I wanted to do was get back to Ignis. It hurt so damn much to be away from him and stay focused on my job. But I got through it because of you. I realised I took your friendship for granted all that time.” Gladio shakes his head and forces his eyes to meet Prompto's.

“I was a shitty friend to you then. I knew you must have been through the mill in Zegnautus but I didn’t want to ask if you were okay because I thought you might fall apart and I couldn’t handle that. So I’m sorry, truly sorry that you had to deal with all that shit on your own.”

Prompto's mouth curves into a smile. Once Gladio would have found that annoying—that quickness to find positives or to forgive. He’d have thought it a weakness, a cowardly desire to avoid conflict maybe. But now he sees its strengths and the freedoms inherent in that position. After all, Prompto’s not the one who's spent the last few years hiding in the wilderness from his problems.

“It’s okay,” Prompto replies. “Honestly, I probably wasn’t ready to deal with any of it then anyway. We still had a job to do and at the time it helped to just focus on that.” Prompto pauses for a moment, his boot scuffing in the dirt as he considers his next words. “I think I locked all of it away until I started helping Ignis deal with his experiences. Some of the stuff he was telling me brought it back, you know?”

Instinctively Gladio wants to divert the conversation back to Ignis, but then all he'd doing is proving he’s _still_ a shitty friend. There’s also an inevitable pang of jealousy that Ignis has talked to someone, but now it’s tempered by the happiness and relief that he has. 

“So how you doin' now?” he asks.

The smile broadens. The nod that follows it, determined. “Okay. Better. It's all just part of the journey, you know? Like, it’s a landmark, but it’s not the end destination.”

Gladio chuckles to himself. “You know, when I first met you I never thought you’d turn out to be such a wise fucker.”

Prompto laughs too. “Yeah well. What can I say? I’m not just a pretty face.”

“Ha, you wish.” The moment of levity falls away to silence. Gladio wrings his hands, studying their gnarled surfaces. The journey Prompto mentioned is mapped on their bodies, indelibly etched, more visible perhaps than the scars on their souls. 

“Thanks for bein' there for Iggy. What happened the day I left... it made me see I was doin' more harm than good; by trying to protect him I was controlling him and I was no better than the Butchers if I did that. It was a spur of the moment decision to go, but I knew that if I stayed in Lestallum I’d keep makin' the same mistakes and I loved him too much to let that happen. I don’t think I ever meant for this,” he says gesturing at place that’s been his home for so long. “But the one thing I was always confident about was that he was in good hands with you no matter how long I was gone.”

“Thank you. And although we wish you’d stayed, you should be proud of what you’ve done up here, Gladio. The pass is open and far less risky than it was with either the monsters or the Butchers. You’ve enabled a more regular supply of meteorshards to get to Exineris and the settlements north have been able to rebuild and even expand, which has eased pressure on Lestallum.” 

Prompto's looking directly at him now, his gaze earnest like it’s important to him that Gladio believes what he’s saying. “You’ve done a lot of good, Gladio, and you’ve helped a lot of people. You should be proud of your achievements.”

“But I've lost _so much_ ,” he says, the words catching in his throat. Angrily, he swipes away a tear. Ignis. Iris. Prompto. His heart. His family. His friends. All of them kept at arm's length for too long. He hears footsteps, and suddenly Prompto is beside him, his hand coming to rest on his knee.

“Not lost,” Prompto says gently. “Come back to Lestallum, Gladio. Come see for yourself that it’s not too late.”

OoOoO

Prompto leaves with the party from Meldacio the next day but not before reminding Gladio that he's hoping to see him back in Lestallum soon. Gladio explains what tasks need completing here before reiterating his promise to think about it. He almost goes to exact a return promise from Prompto that he won’t tell Ignis, not yet anyway, but he knows Prompto won't risk anything that’s not a certainty. Not where Ignis is concerned.

Over the next few weeks the construction of the final part of the outpost is completed. With the newly built storage, they begin to fill it so that whoever is here manning the facility will not run short of anything. With Prompto gone, Gladio begins to doubt himself. It’s true that he's grown increasingly convinced that it’s time to move on, but is returning to Lestallum really the answer? 

As expected, it’s Eve who calls him out. She doesn’t want him to go, not really, but she can see his heart's not in it any more and she tells him that he should. He tells her he can see where her heart is, and how he's happy for her. How he knows the Northern Pass is in good hands. 

Two days later, a supply truck from Meldacio arrives with the last of the supplies and when it leaves, Gladio's on it.

Although he's impatient to get back to Lestallum, stopping over in Meldacio turns out to be a good thing. With his rusty people skills, it’s useful to have the hunter HQ as a practice run. The mess hall is an almost overwhelming experience for him, the noise level a shock when he’s been so used to solitude. He eats quickly and escapes to the quarters that have been assigned to him, fighting the urge to deem this whole escapade a mistake. In the shared bathroom, he studies himself in the mirror. No wonder people were giving him a wide berth. Astrals... He looks wild. 

Resisting the urge to recoil from his reflection, he studies the effects of the last few years out in the wilderness. The shaved sides of his hair have long since grown out and will tie back easily, if—and it’s a big if—he can get a comb through it. Then there’s his beard. His fingers snag in its tangles as he runs his hand down it. Shiva's tits, he can’t let Ignis see him like this. The thought escapes before that stone thuds into the pit of his stomach. _There’s nothing Gladio. Nothing at all. It's just... black._

He staggers backward, the memory flooring him for a moment. Ignis won’t ever see this version of him. But others will. And if he shows up looking like this there’s a good chance Ignis will be persuaded not to give him the time of day before he’s even opened his mouth. No, he can’t let that happen. If he’s gonna go back to Lestallum, he has to do it right. Has to _look_ right, too. He runs his hand across his beard one last time. Time to find a razor and some clippers.

In the end, his hair is salvageable so he decides against clipping the sides into his old style, instead securing the top section to keep it back off his face. The beard takes more work, but eventually he shapes it into something presentable. The face looking back at him feels alien and yet achingly familiar. It's Ignis's Gladio. If only their lives could be so easily put back together.

He tries to sleep, but his brain refuses to quiet. Despite his best efforts, it's impossible not to dwell on their imminent reunion and not a single one of the imagined scenarios ends in a positive way. In the end he gives up and gets dressed. There’s no sunrise to watch anymore and anything that reminds him of Ignis makes him feel nervous all over again.


	15. Chapter 14

Gladio climbs out of the truck in Lestallum feeling like he’s stepped onto an alien planet. It’s not that anything's really changed and the nostalgia hits him so hard he feels like he has to stop and catch his breath. His eyes seek out the landmarks from his memories: the Cup Noodle stand where the other three mercilessly made fun of his love for the food; the lookout point where he and Ignis had escaped to when they didn’t have the money to get two separate rooms at the Leville.

The sights and sounds are jarring as he makes his way back to his old apartment, figuring it’s as good a starting point as any. After years in the wilderness, everything's too loud and too bright and for a second coming back here feels like a big fucking mistake. His footsteps falter as he turns the corner onto the small square and sees his old front door. The square itself looks no different—maybe a little shabbier, but nothing significant. He makes excuses in his head why he shouldn’t knock, but they’re all pathetic. Best just to get it over with.

Before he can change his mind, he's crossed and has rung the buzzer. He moistens his lips as he waits, frantically trying to figure out his opening gambit. When a minute has passed, he presses the buzzer again. The adrenaline that carried him here is starting to ebb. 

“You okay there, mister?”

He spins to come face to face with a boy, maybe twelve, thirteen years old. His clothes are grubby and the sole of one boot flaps at the front as he takes a step towards Gladio. 

“Uh, yeah. I don’t think anyone's home.” Gladio shoulders his duffel and prepares to walk away, but the boy steps into his path.

“Who you after? The blond guy or the blind one?”

Gladio meets the boy's solemn dark eyes, looking for signs of deception. “Either.”

“What’s it worth?”

Ah, here we go. He should have realised everything comes with a price, especially somewhere like Lestallum. 

“I’ll give you two Gil and I won’t give you a busted nose. How does that sound?”

The combination of the threat and his size has the desired effect. The kid raises his hands and then says sullenly, “The blond guy's not been here for a while; I think he's out of town. But the blind guy went out a couple hours ago.”

“Any idea where?” Gladio asks.

The boy shrugs, bored of this conversation now his extortion attempt has failed. “Probably the gym. Goes there at least once a day.”

“Thanks.” 

Gladio goes to walk away, then turns. 

“Here.” He flicks a coin to the kid who catches it deftly, his eyes lighting up. “Get yourself something to eat.”

Gladio heads for the gym, his feet taking him there unconsciously—good job really since his mind can’t focus on anything other than the fact that could be coming face to face with Ignis very soon. He pauses on the street corner when the gym comes into view, feeling disheveled and unprepared. After a quick mental talking to, he pushes on.

Despite the fact that it looks closed, the front door's unlocked. Gladio opens it and steps into the empty foyer. Getting his bearings, he filters out Lestallum to listen for sounds of life inside the gym. There’s a rhythmic thudding and he almost laughs to himself when he realises it's his heart. But no, there’s something else too. He follows the sound down the darkened corridor until he reaches the gymnasium. The double doors have small circular windows but there are no lights on inside so there’s frustratingly little to see other than the flashes of movement that confirm someone is in here. Someone who has no use for light.

Gladio stills, his chest tight. He needs to see.

After a few moments his eyes start to adjust to the darkness, enabling him to pick out Ignis travelling across the mats in a series of perfectly executed handsprings. As he lands, there’s a quick flash of blue and his daggers are in hand. Gladio watches, recognising the precision of Crownsguard training exercises as Ignis lunges, parries and defends against an invisible enemy. Another flash as the daggers disappear followed by a sequence of backflips. When he lands, he summons a pole arm and repeats the exercises with this weapon.

Whilst Ignis is engaged, Gladio pushes on one of the doors and slips silently inside. The large rectangular space has been cleared with all the equipment pushed into one corner. Mats cover most of the floor, everywhere aside from where he’s standing. The windows, set high into the walls are closed, the pole used to open them resting against one wall. From the Exineris plant, the floodlights throw columns of light across the ceiling. And in the centre of it all Ignis completes one final flip before summoning his daggers again and launching them at a target set up on the far wall. They both land—not centrally—but given the size of the target and the fact that Ignis is quite literally throwing blind, it’s pretty fucking impressive. Gladio's pulse quickens as the workout comes to an end. 

Barefoot on the mats and breathing hard, Ignis is dressed in jogging pants and grey henley with the sleeves pushed up. The clothing hugs his slim frame but the likelihood is it now conceals taut muscles rather than wasted flesh given the movements he’s just completed. The tangled mass of hair Gladio remembers battling through is now smooth and swept up into a style that adds inches to his already impressive height. Some strands have worked loose, indicating that he’s not impermeable to the heat and that he’s been here training for a while, pushing himself hard. 

On his face he's wearing what Gladio first assumes are glasses, but on closer inspection it's more like a visor. As he turns, Gladio glimpses the sweat in the henley's open 'v'. He licks his dry lips, feeling exposed but utterly unable to look away. 

He holds perfectly still, not daring to breathe. Once Ignis resumes his training, he‘ll slip back out. He shouldn’t have come. He—

“I know you’re there.” 

Ignis's voice cuts through the air as cleanly as his daggers had moments earlier. He cants his head, like he’s seeing in a way only a blind man can. “I wondered when you’d come.”

Gladio gapes; maybe Ignis doesn’t mean him. Yet instinctively he knows he does. His heart is hammering in his chest and he can’t think of a single damn thing to say in response. He looks around for inspiration, for a second entertaining the wild notion of turning around and just making a run for it like a fucking coward. Instead, he closes his eyes for a moment and reminds himself to breathe.

“Hey, Iggy.”

With the luxury of being able to study Ignis's expression Gladio does so, even though it makes him feel like a dick. And yet there’s nothing to see, no clues that will offer a heads up as to whether he would have been better off running. Or not coming at all. Something occurs to him.

“How'd you know it was me?”

The question brings Ignis to life. His mouth curves into a smile as sharp as the blades he's just thrown. But before he answers, he turns and walks towards the stacked up equipment in the corner, his hand reaching out to land on a towel draped over a pommel horse. It's not got the complete fluidity of a sighted person but it’s not far off. Gladio knows he’s still staring as Ignis blots the sweat on his face and chest as he walks back to where he’s standing.

“A combination of things. I could hear you breathing and I recognised your scent.”

Gladio's eyebrows shoot up, impressed. “You’re lookin' really well, Iggy.”

That smile again. In books Gladio knows it would be described as the kind that doesn’t meet the eyes, but Ignis no longer has that luxury either. “But that I could say the same. You _sound_ well though.”

Despite everything, Gladio laughs softly. In truth, it's a little overwhelming seeing Ignis. Part of him still wants to run, but then another part of him wants to stride forward and take Ignis in his arms. Two extremes, both almost certain to ensure that he won’t get this chance again.

“I know I’m better for seeing you like this,” he replies, his voice hoarse. He gestures helplessly even though Ignis can’t see it. “You looked amazing then. How’d you hit that target?”

“Practice. And lots of it.”

Typical Ignis understated modesty. The thought hits Gladio like a punch. _Typical_. For so long he’d assumed there was nothing of the old Ignis left and yet here he is, reminding Gladio that he was wrong about this too.

“I’ve had a lot of help.” Ignis continues, throwing the towel over one shoulder and smoothing the stray hairs back into his pompadour. “Prompto, your sister, even Aranea. They’ve worked me hard so that I can get back out there and hunt.”

“You _hunt_?!” The words leave Gladio’s mouth before he can stop himself.

“I hunt.”

_Astrals._.. Gladio scuffs a hand through his beard. Now there’s something in Ignis's expression—something dangerous that’s waiting for Gladio to make a wrong step by accepting the invitation to comment on a subject that he’s no fucking business having an opinion on. He lets out a breath, careful not to let it sound like a sigh. 

“Can we talk, Ignis? I know you don’t owe me a second of your time, but...”

Thank fuck, but Ignis saves him. “Yes, but not here. If you could get me my things? They’re on a box by the weight bench.”

“Yeah, of course.” 

In the location Ignis gestures to he finds a water bottle and a set of keys. Beneath the bench is a pair of battered-looking boots. 

“Don’t forget my cane.”

Belatedly he realises there’s a long white cane leaning against the rack of weights. It has a loop at the handle and a ball-shaped tip that thuds softly against the mat as he takes hold of it. He collects everything up and takes it back to where Ignis is waiting. It’s impossible to ignore the flutter in his chest at standing so close. 

“Here.”

“Thank you.” Ignis accepts the boots and steps into them not bothering to fasten the laces. After he’s pocketed the keys, he relieves Gladio of the water bottle and cane, settling the latter in his grip before turning towards where Gladio is waiting. “Shall we?”

They leave the gym together, the door remaining unlocked. Ignis explains that with Lestallum so crowded people come to train at all hours so they gave up trying to operate any kind of structured system. It’s first come, first served like so much here now.

And Gladio lets him talk, interjecting the occasional 'huh' and 'really?' when he’s paying enough attention. Because he’s too transfixed by watching Ignis walk; how he swings the cane in an arcing motion to negotiate the streets and the people and the million and one other obstacles that should make living here a nightmare for someone without vision. All at once he recalls Cartanica, Ignis waving around that useless trinket given by the Altissian government. How far he’s come.

“Here we are,” Ignis announces as they reach the apartment.

“You stayed here,” Gladio comments, which he instantly feels stupid for saying since it’s hardly like Lestallum has properties to spare. A memory, of pushing a terrified, almost catatonic Ignis up these stairs hits him suddenly. He’d seemed so small back then, and Gladio had resented Lestallum for being _too much_. Now Ignis has conquered this town and somehow _he’s_ the one who feels small and out of place. Once upon a time being the weaker party would have kindled resentment in him, but now he just looks at Ignis and feels proud.

“Prompto lives here too, but we're rarely here at the same time, much like you and he were,” Ignis says. With his cane under one arm, he takes out the keys and unlocks the door. He makes an 'after you' gesture and Gladio dutifully does as he’s told.

He repeats the process on the unlit landing and the door swings wide to reveal Gladio's old apartment. Little has changed here too, although the furniture has been pushed against the walls, presumably to make life easier for Ignis. With the door closed, Ignis feels for a hook on the wall and hangs his cane from it by the wrist strap. He also kicks off the boots so that the toes bump the wall next to the door, ready to step into next time he goes out. Gladio remembers how jarring it had been to see Ignis dressed so differently when he’d first found him; now the hard-wearing clothing suits him as much as the fanciest tailored suits ever did. 

“Make yourself at home. Do you want something to drink?”

Gladio shakes himself out of his reverie to look at Ignis standing beside the kitchen counter and removing his visor. It’s inevitable he finds himself remembering the last time he saw Ignis in this room and it takes him a few seconds to find his voice as the knot of anxiety in his stomach tightens at the unpleasant memory. 

“Uh, sure. Whatever you’ve got.”

Spellbound, he watches Ignis go into the refrigerator and locate a bottle from the door. Two glasses are taken down from a cupboard and filled, the only indicator Ignis is doing it without sight is the way he crooks his finger inside each glass to check when it's full. He holds Gladio's out to him, then they both move to take seats in the living area. So far, he’s not needed help with anything. He’s doing great; why the fuck would he want Gladio back here?

“Sorry,” Gladio blurts out, seemingly apropos of nothing. “Just watching you find your way around... it's amazing.”

Ignis offers him a smile, a patient one this time, not dangerous like the ones from earlier. “Again, lots of practice.”

Gladio shifts in his seat, the leather of the old battered couch creaking noisily beneath his weight. Once there was a time he could talk to Ignis about anything. Now it feels like there’s an ocean between them; one infested by shit that could harm them both.

“So how you doin', Iggy? Really.”

Ignis takes a drink and puts the glass down on the small coffee table before he answers. Gladio finds himself drawn to Ignis's hands as they rest on his lap. They’re workman's hands; _soldier's_ hands; rough and calloused through constant use just like Gladio’s own. He spots the missing finger tip and the scar where the ring of the Lucii had sat and his breath catches. Ignis has gone through so much and yet he's here, arguably the less fucked up of the two of them. 

“I’m well, for the most part.”

“You look fantastic.” 

Ignis ducks his head. “Whilst I appreciate the compliment, I fear appearances may be slightly deceptive. It’s still very much a work in progress.”

“Then tell me,” Gladio says. “ _Please_. I want to understand.”

Ignis nods to himself, “Well, physically I'm now mostly recovered although I still have some problems with the scar tissue on my back and I have difficulty keeping warm, even somewhere like Lestallum. I struggle with groups, particularly those that are loud or boisterous. I still have frequent nightmares, although I’m told they’re more common in blind people anyway.” Ignis inclines his head, still smiling. “Like I said, it’s still very much a work in progress.”

Gladio shakes his head in disbelief. “You never cease to amaze me, Iggy. You know that?” 

And yeah, one minute he’s smiling and the next tears are rolling down his cheeks. It catches him off guard, but he’s unable to stop it once the dam has burst. He covers his face, but it’s a losing battle since Ignis will be able to hear the way his breath hitches.

“I’m so sorry, Ignis. Everything you went through was my fault. All because I made you stay behind. I basically broke the fuckin' _world_ because I wanted to keep you safe, even though it wasn’t what you wanted.” He’s openly crying now, unable to stop the grief that he’s held in for years, a tidal wave breaching apparently impenetrable defences. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Dimly he becomes aware of Ignis's hand resting on his back as he’s doubled over. The mortified part of him wonders what the fuck Ignis must make of this display given all that _he’s_ been through. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, dragging a hand across his face and trying to quickly collect himself.

“Why? It’s not a competition, Gladio. There’s no prize for who's suffered the most,” Ignis says reasonably. “And to return to your earlier point, you’re not responsible for the world.”

“Yeah?” he counters, “I was the one who told Noct to go to the crystal when we were in Zegnautus. You? _You’d_ have known what to do, Iggy. You'd have thought of somethin' different and none of this would have happened.”

“It was fate, Gladio. I know because I saw it.”

The words cut a path through his grief. He stares dumbstruck for a moment before his face collapses into a frown. “What d'you mean, you _saw_ it?”

Ignis is still composed, but there’s a stiffness in the way he’s holding himself that says it’s not a pleasant memory to recall. 

“Before I put on the ring to save Noct... I was shown a vision of the future. Noct was always going to be taken into the crystal, to fulfil his destiny to become the King of Light. There’s nothing you could have done to stop it. Everything happened because it was supposed to.”

“And you being taken by the Butchers?” Gladio says, burying his head in his hands. “Was that supposed to happen too?”

“No. But I’ve come to realise that it did serve a purpose.”

Gladio's head jerks up, certain he couldn’t have heard that right. “ _What_? What purpose could it have possibly served?”

There’s a pause that stretches on. For a moment he thinks Ignis isn’t going to say anything and whatever bridges he's built so far have just been torpedoed by his own belligerence. _For fuck's sake, Gladio_. 

“I can understand your cynicism, truly. But I need to explain about the vision I saw in Altissia. As I said, it showed me Noct being taken by the crystal as well as what would be required of him when he returned in order to defeat Ardyn.”

“You know when he’s coming back?” Gladio says, hope surging.

“Unfortunately not.”

“But we _do_ defeat Ardyn?”

“According to the vision, yes.”

“But...?” Gladio says, sensing the word should be there. Because there’s always a fucking 'but' isn’t there? And the answer becomes obvious by the pain that steals over Ignis's expression.

“In order to do so, Noct has to die.”

The world falls away. Gladio swallows quickly. In his mind's eye he sees Noct at different points in his life, like flicking through a series of photographs. Yet despite his mental montage, Noct will forever be a kid, standing awkwardly, pulling at the collar of his too tight, too formal clothing in the royal court—a little brother whom he fiercely loves even when he’s utterly infuriating. 

“He can't...” he says, not sure who the denial is aimed at. He looks at Ignis, realising the weight of this knowledge has burdened him alone for the last, what, eight years? Before even he had to endure his fate at the hands of the Butchers.

“Astrals, Iggy. Why did you never tell me?”

“At first I think I was in denial myself. I suggested to Noct that perhaps we should stop, but he said we couldn’t; that if we did all the sacrifices made by Luna—by myself—would be in vain.”

Gladio's head is spinning. The fights, the disagreements about how they should proceed. All of it now turned on its head. Ignis didn’t want any of them to go to Gralea.

“I don’t understand,” he says helplessly, praying Ignis won’t take offence at any of his desperate attempts to make sense of it. “Why did you agree to return to Lucis? When Noct spoke to you in Cartanica about not carrying on with us, why didn’t you just tell us then?”

“Believe me, I considered it. But I didn’t know what the consequences would be if I intervened. What if I 'broke the world', just to stop Noct being taken? I’m guessing you if anyone understands the ramifications of having to live with a decision like that.”

Yeah, Ignis has got a point. After all, he’s the one who's just spent the last few years hiding from the consequences of his own decisions. 

“Another consideration was that I’d have to tell Noct that I’d worn the ring. I knew how guilty he already felt about not wanting to put it on. I couldn’t bear to add to that.”

Gladio sighs. “And I didn’t exactly help with that either, practically trying to force it on his finger.”

“You were trying to do what you thought was right. We all were. With hindsight, I should never have insisted that I come to Gralea with you all. I know how much work it's taken to get me to where I am now—there’s no way I could have fought through Zegnautus. I would have put you all in danger. You were right to send me back to Caem.”

It’s a generous get out—one Gladio's not sure he’ll allow himself to take. Something Ignis said before that suddenly occurs to him. 

“You said being captured by the Butchers served a purpose. What did you mean by that?”

Ignis nods. “Allow me to go back a little first. When I was at Cape Caem, I started to suspect there was more to the visions, but it wasn’t like I could really tell anyone. Losing my sight meant everybody was already on eggshells around me, if I’d started talking about visions of the future they would surely have thought I’d lost my mind. In the end I reasoned that it could wait; that you’d be back soon and we could talk about it.”

Ignis pauses to gives him a wan smile. “But that didn’t happen, did it? When we had to move here and there was still no sign of you coming back I started to panic that I needed to be doing _something_ myself. In the vision I’d seen a ruin which I knew to be up north. When I heard there were some visitors in town going to Solerno, I sought a ride with them, thinking I could explore those ruins to see if I could make sense of what I’d seen. Again, with hindsight it was foolish of me, but I’d convinced myself I could do it.”

“Gods, Iggy,” Gladio says, thinking of his own experiences in that part of the world. “You could have died.”

“I almost did. If the Butchers hadn’t found me when they did... it's somewhat ironic to think I owe them my life. Anyway, even without the details I’m sure you appreciate that my living conditions at the camp were fairly intolerable. For the most part I survived by retreating into myself; almost like an out of body experience in a way. Spending that much time alone with my thoughts I found I started to recall the vision better. I realised that I had been shown not only the future, but also how I could _change_ it.

“When I realised this, I began to concentrate harder on what I could see. There were clues; I just needed to know where to look. It was never possible to stop the crystal taking Noct, but it seemed like there could be a way to stop Ardyn without Noct having to sacrifice himself to do it. Without those unbearable conditions, I don’t think I would ever have spent so much time in those memories; hence my belief that those years served a purpose.”

It makes sense no matter how awful it is to think of Ignis suffering so much. 

“So what do we do?” Gladio asks, allowing himself to experience a little of the hope that must have kept Ignis going during the darkest of his days. 

“I’m not completely sure, but I believe the answers can be found in the royal tombs and other ancient ruins. Recently I managed to travel to the tomb at Thommels Glade—I thought I’d start there just in case it all turned out to be a fool's errand, but my suspicions were correct. Because of this, I think it will involve retracing our steps to all the other locations, which will understandably be much more difficult given the current situation.”

“I’ll go with you,” Gladio says, prepared to walk out the door that second if it means getting Noct back and kicking Ardyn's ass. The words have barely left his lips when Ignis is shaking his head. 

“No. More and more recently I’ve been feeling that we may be running out of time. If Noct returns before we can amass the research from all of the tombs then the fate I was shown will take its course. The best use of our time is to go separately.”

Gladio breathes in slowly. The thought of Ignis travelling the world _alone_... just when they’ve finally been able to reconnect.

But when he looks at Ignis, it’s obvious the other man knows exactly what he’s thinking from the way his jaw is set, awaiting the inevitable challenge. No, this time it’s gonna be different. Like Prompto had stated whilst they stood calf-deep in the shitty, dirty swamp waters at Fodina Caestino, _Ignis must be free to choose._

“Okay,” Gladio says, nodding resolutely, hoping the determination carries in his voice. “When do we get started?”

And seeing the smile Ignis gives in response is worth everything in the world.

OoOoO

Several hours later, Gladio is lying awake in Prompto's bed staring up at the single bulb dangling from the fitting. It’s still doesn’t seem real. He thinks of Eve and the others back at camp and realises he misses them. Being around people... is okay. For so long he convinced himself that shutting people out was the only way he could be happy in himself. 

With a sigh he rests his arm across his eyes. 

His memory drifts back to the a couple of hours earlier, when he'd felt it was necessary to broach the subject of his being here. 

_So are you staying?_

_I’d like to. But I’m not gonna do it if it hurts you in any way._

Ignis had reassured him that it wasn’t a problem and Gladio had tried to not let his heart get carried away by that even though, gods, he’d wanted to. He’s not stupid; the reason he’s back here is to try to save Noct. Ignis will tolerate him to achieve that aim and then kick his ass out again.

From the other room—his old room—he hears the sounds of disturbed sleep: movement on that creaking old bed, the gasping breaths of waking from a nightmare. Ignis had said he experienced them frequently. Instinctively he wants to get up and go to him. To comfort and tell him that he’s safe.

But he stays where he is and the sounds fade and then stop altogether. Another hour grinds by and eventually Gladio drifts into a dreamless sleep.

OoOoO

Waking, he feels sluggish and a little disoriented. It takes him a moment to place where he is and when it comes to him, his stomach flutters in anticipation of seeing Ignis again. He pictures him in the gym, moving gracefully across the mat before coming to a halt and launching his daggers. Even the memory of it leaves him breathless. _Astrals..._

Now he’s a little more awake, he realises he can hear sounds coming from the other room and—sweet Shiva rejoice—the glorious smell of breakfast. His stomach growls obligingly, clearly annoyed by how long it’s been since he last ate. Drawn like a magnet, he throws on clothes and heads out.

“Good morning.”

Standing behind the kitchen counter, Ignis is fully dressed with his hair swept up into the pompadour. He’s wearing the visor again. In short, he looks like a bad ass.

“Mornin'.”

“Did you sleep well?”

Gladio rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah... I was a little confused where I was when I woke up, you know?”

“I can imagine.” Ignis smiles, his hands constantly working, seeking out the items he needs as he prepares the breakfast Gladio could smell from his bed. “Well I’ve made some pancakes. They’re ready now if you’re hungry.”

Gladio goes to the tables as Ignis brings the stack across. Only once it’s put down in front of him does he realise that there’s only one place setting.

“Hey, are you not havin' any?”

“I’ve already eaten.” His hand trailing the surfaces, Ignis makes his way to the door where he feels for his jacket and pulls it on. There’s a duffel waiting at the door next to his boots and cane that Gladio hadn’t noticed.

“You’re going?” Gladio asks. 

“I am. There’s a truck leaving in about thirty minutes which will take me within a few miles of the Tomb of the Clever.”

Gladio frowns. “That’s the one inside Balouvre Mines?”

“It is.”

Ignis pauses, and there’s that invitation to fuck things up again by telling Ignis not to go. Instead Gladio gets up and goes to join him at the door.

“Are you goin' alone?” he asks, not sure if even that question is breaking the spirit of their agreement. 

“No.” 

That’s a relief, right up until Ignis adds, “Talcott is coming with me.”

“ _Talcott_? Isn’t he about ten?”

Ignis gives him a wry smile. “He's almost sixteen, Gladio.”

Holy fuck. 

“Wow,” Gladio replies, finding his voice. “Well now I feel old.”

“I’m sure you don’t look it,” Ignis says, shouldering his bag and taking his cane off its hook. “Well, the apartment is yours; you’ll find a key in the pot on the side table.” He gestures—correctly—towards the couch and the small table beside it. “I don’t know when Prompto might return; he’s gone west to try and access some of the ruins over there, but you can always use my bedroom if he does. I’m sure you’ll want to get reacquainted with your sister and the others; aside from Prompto and the marshal they don’t know about the visions so please don’t say anything to them. Then perhaps let Cor know you’re back; we need to get you out to one of the tombs and he'll be able to help with logistics.”

The snort Gladio gives is involuntary. “Yeah, I’m not sure how thrilled he's gonna be to see me.”

“He’s fully apprised of the situation. He’ll help you.” 

That’s good to know. “So when I get to the tombs, what exactly am I looking for?”

“Inscriptions. The old kings prophesied these times, but in ways that didn’t mean anything on their own. If we can collate all the inscriptions, it should give us the information we need.”

He sounds so certain, Gladio decides he'll hold onto that. 

“I don’t know if you still have a phone, but someone will be able to provide you with a camera; Talcott tells me the photographs are clearer than ones from a phone. Make sure you capture everything. If we miss even one part it could affect our interpretation of the information.”

“Sure. I won’t let you down.” _Again_ , he thinks with a wince. 

Ignis nods, then turns and reaches for the catch on the door. “Anyway, I need to go; I don’t want to miss my ride.”

Before he can stop himself Gladio catches Ignis's arm. There’s a flash of something unreadable in his expression, and Gladio instantly regrets the action. Ignis doesn’t pull away though.

“Sorry. Just... just be careful, won’t you?”

Ignis's face softens and he nods again. “You too.”

When he’s gone, Gladio falls back against the door and lets out a long, weary breath. It feels like he’s destined to keep getting Ignis back only to lose him again almost immediately. And although the reception he's received from Ignis is better than anything he thought he’d get, it’s obvious it’s only happening because Ignis wants his help. They haven’t talked properly, not really, and the peace between them is such a brittle, easily-shattered thing.

The thought brings bitter laughter to his lips. Like his big, clumsy ass has ever been good with fragile stuff. He massages his eyes for a moment, forcefully shoving aside the notion that he should have just stayed in the wastes. With nothing else to do he heads back to the table, to the fresh pancakes and fruit Ignis has left for him. 

As he eats, the desire to hightail it back north thankfully starts to ease. He can’t run, not again. Not when there's work to be done that could help save Noct. True, he’s a little anxious about seeing everyone, but he’s already reconnected with the person he feared seeing the most, so how hard will it be?


	16. Chapter 15

“You _asshole_!”

The punch to the chest—an impressively hard one—is followed by a hug so fierce it he thinks his rib cage is in danger. People are watching this doorstep exchange, although others continue down the street as if seeing a man getting both punched and hugged is a regular occurrence. Iris is weeping, but her anger makes her body stiff and unyielding in his arms. For his part Gladio can only marvel at how tall she’s gotten, three years having blessed her with the growth spurt he'd experienced around the same age. 

“You’re crushing me, kiddo,” he rasps, still not convinced it’s not entirely deliberate. After another few seconds she lets him go. Her dark eyes move quickly, raking over him ruthlessly as if she’s trying to see what the last three years have done him. “Maybe we should take this inside?”

She swipes her hand across her face and sniffs loudly before nodding. They troop up the stairs in silence, but once they’re inside the apartment she rounds on him.

“How could you just _leave_?” She shakes her head, her expression wounded. “ _Three years_ , Gladio!”

Gladio. Not Gladdy. Chances are that would have happened anyway, but he mourns the opportunity he lost to witness her grow. 

“I know,” he replies quietly. “I just felt like it was for the best. I was makin' things worse and I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Making things worse how?”

“For Ignis,” he clarifies. He’d already reached the decision to tell her everything once he got back to Lestallum. “I’m not sure if this is news anymore, but Ignis and I were together long before we left Insomnia. And I was so scared of losing him when he got hurt in Altissia, I took away his right to choose. Then when I found him in the wastes and brought him back here, I found myself making exactly the same mistakes again. I was tryin' to protect him, but when I realised that I was doing the opposite, I knew I had to go. I’m so sorry my leavin' hurt you, but please believe me when I say I was doing what I thought was best. When I rescued Ignis, I created a difficult situation up north so I figured I could fix that instead.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in running away from your problems,” she says, still annoyed, but it's without the fire of a few minutes ago.

“I know. But I’m back and I’m gonna work just as hard fixing them as I did up north. I swear I’m gonna make it up to you and Ignis and everyone else.”

She studies him solemnly for what feels like an eternity. His heart speeds up a little in response to that hard stare. Maybe she doesn’t want to forgive him. I mean, she was just a kid for fuck's sake, and he—the only living relative she had—abandoned her in the middle of a fucking catastrophe. But she surges forward and pulls him into another hug, fortunately this one not quite as brutal.

“You’re a big dumb idiot,” she murmurs, sounding for all the world like the kid he'd have tickle fights with until she begged him to stop because she had snot coming out of her nose. He holds her tightly, breathing in the strawberry scent of her shampoo. When he pulls back she’s smiling, her eyes still bright. 

“So what happens next?” she asks.

Without giving detail, he explains that Ignis has asked for his help with something. He doesn’t mention the visions, since Ignis has said the others don't know that Noct is destined to die if they don’t intervene. He says he needs to go see Cor, and she offers to go with him. 

“So how was it? Seeing Ignis, I mean,” she asks after they’ve been walking for a minute or so.

He thinks back to last night, barely noticing the streets as they pass through them. “He was at the gym when I found him and honestly? I could have stood there and watched him all night. He said you helped train him.”

She shrugs. “We all did. When he decided he wanted to get back out there, he knew he’d have to work really hard so we all pitched in. It helped me improve too.”

“You hunt too?” he asks, thinking of Ignis going with Talcott. 

“I hunt.”

She doesn’t offer anything else so they walk in silence for a while. He tries to picture Iris hunting and realises his imagination refuses to stretch that far because she’s his baby sister. He’s still fucking proud of her though and he smiles and shakes his head. He realises that she’s still looking at him.

“So... do you still love him?”

“Yeah,” he says softly, knowing it’s a question he doesn’t even need to think about. “Yeah, I do.”

OoOoO

Iris offers to come in with him when they get to the town council chambers, but Gladio tells her it’s okay; he’s a big boy, after all. He climbs the stairs to the marshal's office, remembering himself doing this very same journey the day he and Prompto arrived back in Lestallum, unaware that Ignis had disappeared. He knocks on the door and waits for the invitation to come in. When it comes, he takes a deep breath before reaching for the handle.

The office is exactly as he remembers it: all teak wood and untidy bookshelves. Cor's standing at one of those bookcases reading and it takes him a second to look up, but when he does his eyes widen and for a second Gladio thinks he’s about to drop the book he’s holding.

“Hey, Marshal.”

“Gladio.” Cor discards the book and steps towards Gladio so quickly he wonders if Cor's about to punch him like Iris did. Instead he finds himself being held by the shoulders so Cor can examine him closely. “When did you get back?”

“Yesterday.” 

Cor nods at this thoughtfully, his expression almost warm, which is definitely not what Gladio was expecting. “I’m glad you decided to come back.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

There’s bound to be a catch or a ‘but'. Or at the very least a lecture about how his actions have sullied the title of shield of the king and destroyed the legacy of the Amicitia family. But Cor's expression just isn’t telegraphing that. Instead he says, “I think we need to talk.”

Gladio nods before Cor gestures for them to sit. What’s noticeable is that he sits down in the other visitor's chair so that they’re both the same side of his desk. 

“Before you left,” Cor starts before Gladio can speak, “I said some things that I deeply regret. My concerns about you and Ignis being in a relationship coloured my judgment of your actions in the north. I knew the stories about the Butchers but I thought you'd still acted rashly when I’d made clear that they served a purpose. But I was horrified when I saw what they’d done to him; I can’t imagine what finding him must have been like.”

To hear Cor acknowledge this leaves him lost for a response. He swallows hard, shoving away the memories of seeing Ignis dragged out in front of him, the Butchers expecting him to share their enjoyment at the fucking wretched creature cowering on the ground. He blinks and meets Cor's pale blue eyes. His voice, when he speaks, is rough.

“No one deserves to experience what he went through and I’ll take responsibility for that until my dying day. If I hadn’t been so desperate to protect him after Altissia, he wouldn’t have been alone and he’d have never gone north.”

“But he wasn’t alone,” Cor argues. “He was here with us, and I failed him as a member of the Crownsguard and as a human being. I was so focused on everything that needed doing in Lestallum that I ignored his needs. I should have kept him safe, especially while you weren’t here to do so.”

There’s a tacit acknowledgment of the relationship that surprises Gladio. It’s welcome, although frustratingly far too late.

“I guess we all played our part,” he says eventually.

Cor nods. “You should have never felt you had to go north to make amends, but what you’ve done there is incredible. I know your father would be very proud.”

“Thank you.” In the pause that follows Gladio remembers why he’s here. He clears his throat. 

“Ignis left for Leide this morning. He said I should come to you to figure out which tomb to head to next.”

Cor stands and moves around his desk to look at something Gladio can’t see. After a moment he stands up and realises it’s a map.

“Ravatogh,” Cor says jabbing his finger at the appropriate location. “The Tomb of the Fierce.”

Ravatogh. Gladio can’t help the soft chuckle he lets out. Somehow it seems fitting that he should be returning to the mountains so soon. Cor's waiting for his response so he nods. 

“How soon can you get me there?”

OoOoO

Gladio hurries back to the apartment to pack. With Ignis and Prompto out of town there’s little point staying here twiddling his thumbs so when Cor suggests that he could leave almost immediately Gladio readily agrees. He’s surprised when he arrives at the meeting point to find Iris standing there, a bag slung over her shoulder. 

“Hey, big brother,” she says with a grin. “Ready to get going?”

He frowns, having assumed that the backup Cor insisted he take with him would be some random hunter.

“You’re comin'?” he says and immediately regrets it with the memory of how hard she can punch still fresh in his mind. 

She pouts, just as the driver of their truck appears. He sees Iris and grins before making his way over to Gladio. 

“Baxter,” he says, holding out his hand. 

“Gladio.”

“So we're heading to Ravatogh, right?” At Gladio's nod, he sucks in a breath. “Nasty territory,” he says before his expression brightens and he slaps Gladio amiably on the shoulder. “But don’t worry; you’ll be okay with _Iris the Daemonslayer_ here to protect you.”

Unaware of the touch paper he’s just lit, Baxter ambles away to get into the truck. Gladio stares at his sister, his eyebrows venturing north on their own. Iris rolls her eyes and walks round him to climb into the cab. 

“It’s just a stupid nickname she says. It’s not like I came up with it.”

Helplessly Gladio follows after her, wondering just how much he’s managed to miss in the last three years.

OoOoO

Despite her protests, Iris's nickname is well-deserved. She’s a skilful fighter, nimble on her feet, allowing her to get behind enemies and attack where they’re vulnerable. Not that she lacks strength. Her preferred weapons are daggers and a katana. Like most people, she doesn’t have the advantage of the armiger so her blades need to be something she can comfortably wear. They make it to the haven without incident and set up camp. The darkness has stolen the views he remembers from the time he came here with Noct but despite that, there’s still something about being away from civilisation that calms his soul.

“Is this what it was like?” Iris asks, as if she can read his thoughts. She’s sitting on the ground, her plate resting in the valley of her crossed legs as she studies him across the campfire. “In the north, I mean.”

“It was hard, but there was something uncomplicated about it, you know?”

Eventually she nods. “Were you lonely?”

“Yeah.” He looks at the ground for a moment and sniffs. “But the people I missed the most were the same ones I thought were better off without me. And I don’t just mean Ignis—take you for example. If I’d stayed I’d have tried to stop you from hunting and you'd have ended up resenting me. And the world wouldn’t have benefited from _Iris the Daemonslayer_ ”.

She makes a face, but accepts the compliment in the spirit it’s intended. “Well I’m glad you’ve come back.”

“Mmm.”

His noncommittal reply makes her frown, forcing him to elaborate.

“I still don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, you know? I mean, this,” he says gesturing at their surroundings, “this is good. There's a goal and a plan and I can help with that.” He stops abruptly and lets out a bitter laugh. “If you need something killin', Gladio’s your man. But what then? I love Ignis and it means _everything_ to me to see how far he’s come, but... I don’t know if I can be around him when I still love him. It just hurts too much.”

He swallows hard and looks away. The admission surprises him even though the thoughts have been circling ever since Prompto found him and suggested he come back. 

“Ignis loves you,” Iris says with confidence. “Of course things won’t be the same, not after everything that’s happened. But even if it’s in a different form, it’s still love, right? And that's gotta be worth sticking around for.”

He looks at her and smiles, his heart filled with affection. “You grew up good, kiddo.”

“Must be that awesome big brother I had,” she says, throwing a leftover piece of onion at him and laughing.

Later on, he finds himself thinking about what she said. It’s clear Ignis doesn’t hate him because he could easily have recruited his help without asking him to come back to Lestallum. And Iris is right. Love in whatever form is worth staying around for. 

OoOoO

The following day they complete the hike up Ravatogh. The tomb is in sight long before they actually get anywhere near it because a pack of wyverns have made their home on the trail. He doesn’t mention the time he fell off a mountain because it’s already in his head and the last thing they need is it being put in Iris's too. 

But they get through and once they’re safely inside the tomb they collapse on the floor, breathing hard, laughter born of relief bubbling from their chests. 

“Shit,” Iris giggles. Her eyes are shining and her is forehead smeared with dirt.

“Hey, have some respect. You’re in a tomb.”

She turns her head to look at him. “Oh, sorry. _Holy_ shit?” He snorts a laugh and sits up, ignoring the complaints from his joints. “Come on. Let's get the camera out and get snapping any inscriptions we can find. I don’t wanna miss anything that could turn out to be important.”

“Why _are_ they important?” Iris asks, starting to get up herself and dusting herself down. 

“Dunno.” He hates lying to her, but he agrees that it’s best to keep Noct's fate under wraps. He rummages in his bag for the camera Cor provided him with. “But if it helps bring back the dawn then I’m more than happy to get my Prompto on.”

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

To be fair, he probably goes a little overboard, but when they leave he’s satisfied that if there’s information to be gleaned from the writings, then he’s captured it in its entirety. The trip back down is quicker than their journey up, and when the truck finally drops them back in Lestallum Gladio climbs out, weary but with a positivity he definitely didn’t possess before. 

“That was fun,” Iris says, grinning before she leaps forward to hug him. “Let’s do it again soon, okay?”

He winces at the aches in his back, envying her youth even though it’s not like he’s ancient himself. But when he says, “I hope so”, he's surprised to find that he actually means it.

OoOoO

As the weeks turn to months, a routine of sorts emerges. He occupies the apartment with Prompto and Ignis although there's never yet been an occasion when they’ve all been there at the same time. The chances they do have to reconnect strengthen his resolve that he needs to stick it out because despite the years of separation he feels wanted and included in their lives. 

They clear the royal tombs, but the downside is they now have to start on the ruins dotted around the land. It’s not all plain sailing. There are injuries and calls that are far too close for comfort. On a mission to the ruins at Pitioss, they almost lose Prompto; without potions he’d never have made it and the realisation is sobering. The supply of magic-infused curatives have dwindled over the last couple of years and having to use one is an indication of how near to death he actually was.

The times he and Ignis are back in Lestallum together are the ones Gladio both cherishes and fears the most. He’s like a love-sick idiot, desperate to share the same air as Ignis but terrified to be around him in case he breaks this fragile peace they have. There are little signs that Ignis is becoming reciprocative to his affections; any physical contact between them isn’t rebuffed and sends Gladio into an endless cycle of analysing what it could mean. For the most part he is the one to pour water on his ardour. Ignis is blind, and touch is important in a way it wasn’t before. It doesn’t mean anything. 

It’s inevitable they grow more comfortable with each other and when Gladio wakes one night to the sound of Ignis's gasping breaths coming from the other room, he's on his feet before he can think better of it. Earlier on, Ignis had spoken about travelling north, to the ruins he'd originally tried to reach before he'd fallen afoul of the Butchers. Gladio had immediately said he'd go, but Ignis had shook his head. _I want to exorcise a ghost_ , he'd said. He had however agreed to let Gladio come with him. It’s understandable though that the thought of this upcoming journey might bring on a nightmare.

Barefoot, Gladio navigates the darkened apartment and pushes gently on Ignis's door.

“Iggy?” he says, his eyes gradually adjusting to the shape now sitting up in bed, head in hands. “Are you okay?”

Slowly Ignis lifts his head, his breaths now shuddering out of him as he exhales. “Gladio?”

“I’m here, Iggy.” Gladio steps into the room, and pads across to the bed. He kneels down beside it and reaches for Ignis's hand, the tang of perspiration filling his nostrils. This must have been a bad one.

“I’m so sorry for waking you.”

“Hey, don’t apologise.” He gives Ignis's hand a squeeze. “Do you wanna try and get back to sleep or can I make you a drink?”

Ignis rubs his brow. “What time is it?”

“Uh, about four, I think?”

“I’ll get up,” he says with a sigh. “I’ll never get back to sleep now.”

“You want some tea?” Gladio asks, standing up, grimacing as his knees pop. 

“Thank you.”

OoOoO

When Ignis emerges from his room, Gladio is already seated at the table, two fresh mugs of tea waiting to be drank. Ignis rakes his fingers through his hair after feeling his way into the chair then wraps his fingers around the mug, like he needs the warmth. His expression is pinched, his good eye still tightly closed. Gladio studies him, his instinct to enquire battling against his anxiety that he might be about to overstep his bounds. Fuck it. Instinct wins.

“If it'd help to talk about it...” 

His pulse quickens as he waits for Ignis to respond. What if he tells him to leave? He doesn’t have long to spend on recriminations when Ignis places the mug back on the table and says, “I’ve thought about it, many times. Telling you, I mean. But I’m never sure whether it’s wise for either of us to return to those times.”

Gladio lets out an audible exhale. Truth is, he feels the same, caught between wanting to know everything and not giving form to the horrors his imagination has already dreamed up.

“You can tell me everything or you can tell me nothing,” he says gently. “I’m here for you regardless.”

Ignis gives him a grateful smile but it’s a while before he says anything. When he does, his voice is flat, like slipping into these memories is physically draining for him.

“The Butchers gave me my life, but they stole everything else from me. It’s taken a very long time for me to regain my love for cooking for instance, because for so many years it was such a stressful event. They beat me for the slightest thing: too hot, too cold, too spicy. I don’t think it really mattered.” 

Gladio's stomach drops at his own memory; that clumsy attempt to get Ignis back into the kitchen thinking it would actually do him some good. He swallows and even though Ignis can’t see it, he seems to sense Gladio's discomfort.

“Please don’t punish yourself, Gladio. I know what you were trying to do and I don’t blame you at all. The fact is, I’d retreated so far into myself I couldn’t believe anyone could be kind.”

“Yeah well I'm still sorry.”

Ignis nods. “Aside from that there’s not a great deal more to tell. The Butchers revelled in cruelty. It was entertainment to them, nothing else.”

Slowly Gladio extends his hand until it rests on top of Ignis's. Gently he turns Ignis's hand over, his fingers tracing along the digit shorter than the others. He thinks of Arturo Rose all those years ago, when he'd asked why the Butchers did what they did. _They like it_.

“What happened here?” he asks softly. 

Ignis's mouth curves into a humourless smile. “I’m afraid it’s not very interesting, although perhaps a good example of how they enjoyed cruelty for cruelty's sake. Early on in my captivity they brought a couple to camp whom they’d captured travelling through the pass. They killed the man quickly, but they toyed with the woman for a while. I tried to intervene, tried to get them to spare her life. They suggested various things I could do in order to save her; it became a game to them, each suggestion more ridiculous than the last. They asked if I'd let them cut off a finger.” Ignis ducks his head. “I couldn’t bear to hear her cries so I agreed. Of course Cade wouldn’t let them take the whole finger in case it affected my ability to feed them.”

Gladio studies Ignis's hand, rage and revulsion swirling in his gut.

“They took the finger, but killed her anyway. Eventually I just gave up.”

“Fuck, Iggy. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Gladio takes up Ignis's hand again, cupping it within his own. “I know going north will be hard, but I’ll be right there with you. I can’t wait to show you how much it’s changed.” He makes a spur of the moment decision and brings Ignis's hand to his lips. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

Ignis doesn’t pull his hand free and eventually he smiles, which eases the hammering of Gladio's heart a little.

OoOoO

They travel north together, camping at the Vesperpool before starting on the leg of the journey that will take them through the pass. Having a vehicle feels like a luxury and Gladio is excited to be bringing supplies, having been the recipient of so much kindness while he was there. Ignis is quiet, but he assures Gladio he's content to listen, particularly as Gladio becomes more animated as the territory becomes familiar. 

As they’re approaching the outpost, Gladio reaches over for Ignis's hand. “Remember, we can drop stuff off and hit the road straight away. You don’t even need to get out.”

“Thank you.”

Gladio drops down a gear as terrain starts to incline. Then the opening appears on his left and he swings the truck in, bringing it up to the chain link perimeter. He spots someone and waves and next thing people are running to open the gates.

“Okay, we're here.”

He brings the truck to a stop and shuts off the engine. He wants to study Ignis better, to gauge how all this is being received, but suddenly there are people approaching, familiar faces transforming with delight when they realise who it is.

“Iggy. You stay here,” he says, before climbing out and going to greet them before they get any closer to the truck. 

“Gladio!” Eve cries, and suddenly he’s got his arms full. He hugs her back, thrilled to see how well she looks. Gabe and Isaac are there too, grinning broadly. There are backslaps and hugs and introductions for the people he doesn’t know. But they know him. This place exists because of him, after all. As the greetings are taking place, the passenger door swings open. Immediately Gladio is at Ignis's side.

“Hey, you okay? You can stay in the truck if it’s too much.”

Ignis shakes his head, his smile a tight one. “I believe it’s good manners to meet your friends.”

So Gladio introduces them, with some help from Eve for the newcomers' names that he’s already managed to forget. He sees how her eyes widen when he introduces Ignis, and the smile that follows. _You did it_ , her expression says and he can’t help but grin. 

Fortunately the people disperse to give them some space. At Ignis's insistence, Gladio takes him around the outpost, allowing him to explore with his hands everything Gladio's describing. They don’t venture near the caves. They eat in the mess hall, but only after everyone else has eaten and unload the truck, some of the supplies inspiring whoops of delight from the permanent outpost members. Eve tells Gladio that Nick has been by recently too. He says to pass on his best and she promises she will.

Despite how well Ignis has coped being at the camp, Gladio makes the decision to hit the road. They can make it to Boreas haven before any daemons begin to materialise and he figures they’ll both rest easier there. Eve looks disappointed that he’s not staying for longer, but she knows enough to understand why they’re moving on.

With the outpost in the rear view mirror, Gladio asks again if Ignis is okay. He’s taken by surprise when Ignis takes his hand and presses a chaste kiss to the knuckles. It’s an answer in and of itself and it makes Gladio smile. The Butchers have gone and now Ignis has seen it for himself, so to speak, maybe he'll be able to move on.

OoOoO

They locate the ruins and the inscriptions Ignis hoped to find. On the way back to Lestallum to stop off at the outpost again. They still don’t stay overnight, but Ignis is less reticent, particularly with the people Gladio has talked about. At one point Gladio sees him engaged in conversation with Eve, but Isaac is explaining about their new generator so it's difficult to observe it properly.

As they’re leaving Eve pulls him into a hug, laughter bubbling in his ear as she has to go on tiptoes to do it. 

“Stay safe, honey,” she says, squeezing him tightly. “And make sure you take good care of your man.”

He hugs her back. “Yeah... I wish he was.”

Eve pulls back suddenly to look at him, her eyebrows arching into a frown.

“What?” Gladio asks.

She gives an impish smile that reminds him scarily of Iris. “Oh. Only I said exactly the same to him and he said ‘I will'.” They both glance over to the truck where Ignis is talking to Gabe. Gladio's heart thuds wildly in his chest. 

“Maybe it’s not as unlikely as you think.”

OoOoO

They leave the outpost and drive in silence until Gladio can bear it no longer. He slows down and brings the truck to a stop on the road just beyond the entrance to the pass. Ignis turns his head, frowning slightly.

“Is everything okay, Gladio?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing his hands along the steering wheel. “I, uh, just wanted to say something.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He stops, then thinks _fuck it. I may as well say it now._ “I love you, Iggy an' I dunno what we are to each other anymore, but I just wanted you to know that.”

Ignis smiles, but it’s a sad one and Gladio’s heart sinks. _Why the fuck did he say anything?_

“While the feeling is mutual, Gladio, I don't think I can be what I was; what you _want_.”

Gladio is already shaking his head, wishing Ignis could see it. Instead he reaches for Ignis's hand. “Forget the past; we're both different people. I’m in love with _this_ Ignis. If you want to know what I want, it’s to be able to picture my future and know you’re still in it.” 

Gladio lets the statement sit there and after a moment, Ignis nods.

“I’d like that too.”

Letting out a breath, Gladio lifts Ignis's hand and kisses it gently. “Forever, remember?”

Ignis's smile broadens with recognition and he plays along, quirking his eyebrow. “Forever is a long time, Gladio.”

“Yeah,” he says, grinning, “ _but it's as good a length of time as any_.”


	17. Chapter 16

Ten years.

_Ten fucking years._

Sometimes it feels like it's passed in a matter of weeks, but mostly Gladio knows he’s felt every minute of that long, hard decade. He doesn’t doubt that Noct's coming back any more; Ignis is utterly confident that he will and that’s good enough for Gladio. But the question of _when_ is still there.

It circles in his mind until the day, ten years after Noct went into the crystal, when he wakes to find Ignis gone. Padding barefoot from his bedroom, he finds a note on the kitchen counter. The handwriting is neat, but sloping upwards—a symptom of the author being unable to see what he’s putting on the paper.

_Gone to the lookout_

Gladio dresses and makes his way through the early morning streets. The sky is still littered with stars as he crossed the road and jogs down the steps to the lookout point. Although the marketplace is already starting to come alive, there are few people out this way, making it easy for Gladio to locate the solitary figure standing next to the telescope mounted on the perimeter wall, his cane resting beside him.

Gladio scuffs his boots along the ground, even though Ignis will know he’s here. When he’s about ten feet away, Ignis turns his head.

“Good morning, Gladio.”

“Mornin'. Couldn’t you sleep?”

The breeze blows strands of hair across Ignis's face. Without the visor and the pompadour Ignis recaptures some of his youth, yet his scars are a reminder of all the time that’s passed. _He's so beautiful_ , Gladio thinks. _And he doesn’t even know it._

“I think,” Ignis says, cutting across his thoughts. “I think Noct might be back.”

Gladio blinks. His mouth falls open but there’s a delay before the words actually come out. “You... _what_?”

He realises now what he hadn’t noticed before—that when he first arrived Ignis was angled towards Galdin Quay and Angelgard. Seeing it in his mind's eye.

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. I had a dream; I’m not sure I understand it, but I can’t shake the feeling. When I awoke, something... something just feels different.”

Tearing his eyes from Ignis's face, Gladio looks skyward. Can _he_ feel anything? He’s often wondered if he’d sense Noct’s return or if the first he’d know about it was when Noct showed up on his doorstep.

“D’you wanna go?” Gladio asks, and immediately Ignis's shoulders slump. Maybe he was expecting resistance; it was only a dream after all.

“I’d like to.” 

“Okay then. Let’s go pack.”

Still smiling, Ignis feels for his cane, but he holds it in the middle indicating that he’s happy to let Gladio walk them back to the apartment. His hand slips over Gladio's biceps, fingers nestling in the crook of his arm. The closeness sings to Gladio's soul like it’s a new development every time it happens. If Ignis is right then things could finally be about to change.

At the apartment Gladio fetches their duffels. The conversation is minimal, and an atmosphere fills the living space that Gladio can’t readily identify. From the doorway he watches Ignis for a moment, hands flying across items which he then either pushes to one side or folds and shoves into his bag. His posture is stiff, mouth drawn into a thin line as he works, presumably caught somewhere between desperately wanting his hunch to be true and fear that it isn’t. Gladio goes to the other room to start his own packing.

When he's done, he drops his bag by the front door. Ignis's is already there. While he’s waiting, the bathroom door opens and Ignis steps out, now dressed to leave with his hair styled into that immaculate quiff. The look is completed as he slips his visor onto his face.

“All ready to head out?” Gladio asks, pulling back his own hair and securing it with a band. 

Ignis ducks his head, his words hesitant. “I'm sorry if this a fool's errand.”

“Hey,” Gladio replies, lifting Ignis's hand and pressing a kiss to it. “No apologies, okay?”

A nod. “Okay.”

They head out. Gladio locks the door behind them, then repeats the action at the bottom of the stairs as Ignis stands on the street readying his cane. Together they make their way to the gates, hoping to find transportation that can take them to, or at least near Galdin Quay. If not they’ll have to try and requisition a vehicle of their own, but that could take days. 

Their silence is accompanied by the dull thump of Ignis's cane. When they round the last corner Ignis says, “is there a truck in?”

There is, but there's no one near it. It certainly doesn’t look like it’s getting ready to go anywhere soon. 

“Yeah,” Gladio answers. “But it's empty. Hang on, lemme see if I can find someone.” 

He jogs further into the alley, just in case the driver is out of view, but can’t see anyone. Chances are the driver has gone to grab a meal while they’re back in Lestallum. He finds the schedule resting on a nearby crate and scans the contents before returning to where Ignis is waiting with their bags.

“Bad news. It’s due to leave at ten but it’s going west out to Ravatogh.”

Ignis purses his lips and nods after a moment's consideration. “If it could drop us at Old Lestallum we might be able to make it from there?”

“Yeah, if there’s nothing else then we might have to go with that. Let’s go see what vehicles are out front first. You never know, we might get lucky.”

“Absolutely.”

Weaving through the alleys, they reach the road. With Lestallum barricaded at each end, the traffic is usually minimal, meaning Gladio isn’t looking when he goes to step out and nearly ends up under the wheels of a car that's barrelling towards them. It’s Ignis who throws an arm across his chest to save him, presumably having paid more attention to what he could hear.

“What the fuck?” Gladio growls, as the car skids slightly in its haste to stop. He bangs on the hood which is now only a few feet from his legs. “You coulda killed someone driving like that!”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” the driver says, springing from the vehicle, wide-eyed. To Gladio's surprise, he’s wearing a glaive uniform. “I was actually coming here to get you.”

Gladio glances at Ignis, whose eyebrows are now visible above his visor.

“Is that so?”

The glaive is studying Ignis, his expression somewhat awestruck, which under less pressing circumstances Gladio would have found amusing. 

“Yessir,” he says breathlessly. “I’ve been advised to collect you both and take you to Hammerhead.” Before either of them can ask why, the glaive's face breaks into a broad grin that instantly transforms his features. “The king has woken.”

OoOoO

The glaive drives a little too fast but neither of them can bring themselves to tell him to slow down. Gladio tries to remember the last time he came out to Hammerhead but the answer eludes him, just like most of the thoughts he tries to occupy himself with. _Noct's back_. Instead he contents himself with the passing scenery, whilst wondering what's going through Ignis's mind as he sits in the back, head bowed, hands folded neatly in his lap.

In turns out the glaive isn’t able to tell them a whole lot, other than a flare had gone up from Angelgard and when the reinforcements had got out there they’d docked to find Noct surrounded by a group of shell-shocked glaives. As soon as the boat had moored back at Galdin Quay, he'd been dispatched to Lestallum to collect them. Prompto, who was working out at Longwythe, is apparently on his way to Hammerhead too.

Given the distances involved, Prompto makes it there first. He’s waiting by the perimeter fence and as the car pulls into the compound, he hurries over, his grin almost splitting his features. Gladio's barely out of the car before he's pulled into a hug, which he returns with equal fervour as Ignis climbs out the back.

Ignis gets the same, although it’s noticeable how Prompto's motions are more careful, giving Ignis time to withdraw if the gesture's not welcome. He reciprocates in kind however, his own smile genuine. 

“How you both doing? This is wild isn’t it?” Prompto fires at them with the enthusiasm Gladio associates with him in the early days of their journey together. “I’m still not sure I believe it. I mean, I’m out at Longwythe, halfway up a ladder when this truck appears and says 'you need to get to Hammerhead, Noct's back!'”

“The truck said that?” Ignis says, one eyebrow arched as he turns toward to Gladio. “And to think we got collected in a regular car.”

Gladio looks at Prompto and they burst out laughing and it’s almost— _almost_ —like the old days.

OoOoO

Occupying a booth in Takka's Diner, Gladio thinks he's doing a pretty good job of keeping a lid on his nerves, up until the moment they hear the rumble of a truck approaching. He sucks in a lungful of air and lets it out slowly as the hunter on sentry duty jumps up and jogs to the gate, just as a set of powerful headlights swing around the corner. 

“He's here,” he says, somewhat unnecessarily to Ignis. He reaches for Ignis's hand and gives it a squeeze. “You ready?”

That's not really what he’s asking and Ignis knows that. He nods, giving a serene smile that leaves Gladio wondering how honest he’s going to be with Noct about what the last ten years have been like for him.

“Come on, Gladio says. “Let's go greet our king.”

Prompto is already out there, having given up sitting quietly and waiting about half an hour earlier. He's rocking on the balls of his feet, hands clasping and unclasping like he’s not sure what he should be doing with them. He turns and flashes them a grin when he hears Gladio and Ignis approaching. 

The truck circles and stops so that it’s pointing back towards the gates. There’s a clunk of a door opening and shutting, and suddenly Noct is standing right there, ten years after the last time Gladio laid eyes on him. 

Gladio's stride falters and Ignis, who's following his lead, stops too.

“What is it?” Ignis asks.

For a moment Gladio's not sure he can put it into words. Then he remembers Ignis doesn’t have the same luxury and he’s got to be the other man's eyes in this situation.

“He’s... older,” he says, which is hardly the level of detail Ignis is probably expecting. “I mean, he looks good. I guess I didn’t think he'd age inside the crystal. Well. Actually I dunno what I thought.”

Ignis doesn’t appear surprised by this news and Gladio wonders if he actually got to see this older version of Noct in the vision he was shown shortly before he lost his sight. 

Ignis clears his throat. “Best that we not keep his majesty waiting.”

Prompto and Noct are embracing as they walk over. Gladio can’t see Prompto's face, but Noct's eyes are tightly closed and it’s a long time before they pull apart. Gladio catches Prompto swiping away a tear before he meets Noct's solemn gaze. They study each other for a few heartbeats of time, then Noct's features soften and Gladio finds himself enveloped in the same powerful hug that Prompto had been moments earlier. 

“It’s so good to see you, Gladio,” Noct says hoarsely in his ear.

“You too. You certainly kept us waitin'.”

“Not like I wanted to.”

When they pull apart, Gladio watches as Noct's gaze falls upon Ignis waiting patiently to his right. Noct's expression is pained and his eyes grow wet. He steps towards Ignis and visibly takes a breath.

“Hey, Specs. How are you doing?”

Ignis smiles despite the tears he can undoubtedly hear in Noct's voice.

“I’m well; even more-so now you’re back. It’s wonderful to hear your voice, your majesty.”

At that, Noct all but collapses into Ignis's arms, openly weeping now. As they hold each other Gladio looks across to Prompto, his expression a mirror to Gladio's own. When the moment is over Gladio hurriedly thumbs away a tear. In that heartbeat of time as Noct steps back his expression transforms, hardening in a way that Gladio's never seen before.

“We should go in,” Noct says, turning that intense gaze on them all. “We've got much to talk about.”

OoOoO

Noct's need for urgency becomes clear; Ardyn, he explains, will know he’s awakened so time is of the essence to bring the final fight to him. He outlines their next steps, which is nothing more complicated than returning to the crown city and ousting the usurper. He thanks them for keeping the world safe while he was gone, then addresses each of them in turn, making clear that he doesn’t expect any of them to join him unless it is their wish to do so. Unsurprisingly they all state categorically that they’re coming with him and will be with him to the very end. Noct's expression will remain etched into Gladio's memory because as far as Noct's concerned the end isn’t that far off.

To Noct's surprise, Ignis then requests to take the floor. He speaks eloquently about the research he's been conducting over the last couple of years, made possible by the help and support of many. When he talks about the vision he received in Altissia, Noct frowns, the angle of his eyebrows growing steeper with every word. Ignis can’t see this so he carries on talking, but Gladio watches the direction of Noct's gaze as it falls from Ignis's face to his hands. And Gladio sees the exact moment Noct notices the scarring on Ignis's middle finger and the devastation that follows as he comes to the undoubtedly correct conclusion.

“Iggy,” Gladio cuts in gently. “I think maybe you and Noct need to talk.”

Gladio glances at Prompto and jerks his head. _Come on_. 

They go outside. Through the plate glass window Gladio watches Ignis and Noct. Ignis is obviously the one talking, judging by the way he's gesturing. But Noct doesn’t see any of it with his head buried in his hands.

“He didn’t know,” Prompto says. 

Gladio tears his eyes away to look at Prompto, who's watching the other two as well. 

“No. Ignis didn’t want Noct to feel pressured to wear the ring before he was ready.”

“But you knew.”

After a moment Gladio nods. “Yeah.”

Prompto's gaze drifts away, presumably as he trawls his memories, everything starting to slot into place: the arguments in Altissia; the bad blood on the train to Cartanica. Prompto's known about he and Ignis's relationship for a number of years now so presumably he thought he understood why Gladio was upset back then.

“So he didn’t get hurt helping with the evacuation.”

It’s not a question, but Gladio shakes his head anyway. 

“He needed to protect Noct from Ardyn. The kings of yore demanded a blood price in exchange for their help. They chose his sight and Ignis accepted.”

Gladio swallows hard. Despite the passage of years, it still makes him sick. 

OoOoO

It’s sometime later before Noct emerges from the diner, looks around, and makes his way over to where Gladio is sitting alone. Prompto left a while ago and is over at the garage with Cindy, catching up some of the projects they’ve been working on together. Noct stops in front of him and digs his hands into his pockets. When Gladio meets his gaze, he says, “Ignis has told me everything. Altissia, his time in the north, all of it.”

Gladio puts down the playing cards he was shuffling and waits until Noct sits down beside him. The air is heavy with questions. Gladio feels sorry for him—he’s had years to process everything that’s happened; Noct has to do it in a matter of hours. 

“I can’t believe he never told me he'd worn the ring.”

Gladio sighs. “He wanted to protect you.”

“I get that,” Noct replies, resting is elbows on his knees. He shakes his head slowly. “How the hell did I not notice?”

“There was a lot of shit goin' down then. And you know Ignis. He’s a stubborn son of a bitch when he wants to be. Chances are even if you’d guessed he would have denied it.”

When Noct doesn’t reply, Gladio looks up to find himself being scrutinised. 

“So you two... why didn’t you just say you were together?”

Gladio laughs softly and leans back in the chair. “You think I didn’t want to? Gods, life would've been so much easier if we could have been open about everything. But fraternising was forbidden, especially given our titles. Neither of us wanted to jeopardise our positions so we didn’t have any choice.” He studies his hands, calloused and scarred. “For years I dreamed about what would happen if we were both relieved of our duties. I had this fantasy of us in a little house somewhere; nothin' fancy but it was ours. I’d fish and we'd have a vegetable patch and it’d be just us alone with nature.” He laughs again, more bitter this time. “Stupid, I know.”

“No, it's not.” Noct is fixing him with a look so direct that Gladio straightens slightly. “I know Ignis has got a plan, but I want you to promise me that if we win but I don’t survive, you’ll go and make that happen.”

“Noct—”

“Promise me, Gladio. _Promise me you’ll make it happen_.”

Gladio realises he isn’t getting out of this without giving an answer. A sigh precedes it. “Okay, but you’re gonna make it. Iggy knows what we need to do. The dawn's gonna break and you’re gonna be there to see it.”

“Fine. One other thing too.”

“What is it?”

“When we reach Insomnia, I want you to keep him safe.” Gladio shoots him a look of incredulity to which Noct rolls his eyes. “I know, I know, you're my shield and your father would be turning in his grave, but don’t forget, I’m king now, Gladio. You’ve all done so much and there's no way I could repay you for that, but given everything Ignis has been through I want to know that you’ll protect him. Ignis _has_ to make it, do you hear me?”

Noct sounds so much like a king that Gladio nods his head.

“Yeah, I hear you. I’ll keep him safe.”

OoOoO

They leave Hammerhead the next morning, determined to make it to the crown city as fast as possible. Prompto drives, which is a source of much hilarity since they’d banned him from taking the wheel of the Regalia fairly soon into their road trip. Indignantly he drives, hands at ten to two like he’s taking his driving test. He chats to Noct whilst in the back Gladio takes Ignis's hand and laces their fingers together. They sit shoulder to shoulder despite all the available space. Their respective conversations are deliberately light; no dwelling on what’s to come.

When they finally step foot back in Insomnia, pushing their way through the twisted ornate gates, Gladio's legs almost buckle beneath him. They'd all known the imperial invasion had wrought chaos to the city, but the following ten years of neglect and daemon infestation has reduced the once vibrant streets to the brink of annihilation. For a moment Gladio forgets that the others are there until Ignis says quietly, “what does it look like?”

“Bad,” he answers simply, knowing Ignis will not want him to soften the blow. “So much of it is gone. You wouldn’t recognise it.”

He wonders what Ignis is picturing. He knows which gate they've come in at and what the city _should_ look like from this location. 

“What about the citadel?”

“It's still standing,” Gladio says, trying to imagine how he’d feel if that landmark was no longer there, waiting silently in the darkness. “Hopefully it’ll be okay after a bit of pest removal.”

The corner of Ignis's mouth quirks upwards at that. He looks fucking amazing in his full Crownsguard uniform, his hair swept up in that familiar style. They all do. When Noct had emerged, dressed in his royal raiment before they set off Gladio had felt a spark of hope that maybe they could pull this off. All they had to do was take the fight to Ardyn.

And a fight it is. Away from the perimeter walls Insomnia is swarming with monsters and daemons and long forgotten magitek infantry. By the time they reach the citadel, they’re tired and ready for a rest but they’ve no option but to keep going because Ardyn is hardly going to wait for them to recharge their batteries.

Gladio worries about Ignis. Without his sight he must concentrate twice as hard as the rest of them to keep track of the enemies, but he endures it all without complaint. Noct has caught his gaze once or twice, silently communicating a reminder that he promised to keep Ignis safe. And Gladio's good to his word. He’s always got one eye on Ignis whenever they’re fighting and he doesn’t stray far from his side if he can help it. But it’s a team effort, and when they do manage to find shelter for a quick breather Noct states how blown away he is by their skill.

And there are moments it almost feels like the old days, when, confident of victory they would banter and tease one another while they fought. Even Ignis joins in, quipping about how even he can see how much they’ve improved, setting off a chorus of much-deserved groaning. Every time Gladio thinks it’s okay—fuck, he’s almost _enjoying_ himself—the reality of what they’re here to do slams into him. 

So they reach the citadel and take stock at the foot of the steps. This is it. Ardyn's waiting for them inside, filled with a poisonous rage that Noct has the audacity to live. Any levity is gone now. Despite all their preparations, there’s a good chance none of them are gonna make it out. The thought of Ignis dying here is so painful that Gladio has to rub his chest to try and clear it.

“Last chance to change your minds,” he realises Noct is saying. “I’m okay to go in there alone.”

It’s greeted with emphatic head shaking that leaves Noct looking simultaneously distraught and relieved. 

“To the end, remember?” Ignis says into the silence.

Noct studies them all, his expression so fond it brings a lump to Gladio's throat. “I love you all. Whatever happens.”

They set off together up the steps. Noct falls in beside Gladio, catching hold of his sleeve to create a little distance between them and the other two. 

“Remember what you promised,” Noct says under his breath. 

“I do,” Gladio replies. 

He'll protect Ignis; Noct doesn’t even need to ask. But he'll also do the same for Prompto and Noct. As they approach the palace, he allows his imagination to drift to a scenario where the four of them are walking back down the citadel steps, eyes drawn upwards, knowing that at some point, the dawn will break. And when that happens, when the first rays lay their fingers on the bruised and battered earth, they can start to rebuild. Together, just like always. 

The vision fuels Gladio's steps, his fingers flexing and tightening around the hilt of his sword. He's going to make this future a reality, for Ignis and Noct and Prompto and Iris, and everyone who's suffered and battled for survival over the last decade. The Long Night is about to come to an end.

But first, Ardyn awaits.


	18. Epilogue

Gladio wakes at the first signs of daylight. He smiles at the sight of the Ignis lying beside him, his features slack on the pillow. The urge to push the hair away from his face is painfully tempting, but he leaves it, wanting Ignis to sleep on some more. He still has nightmares, but the frequency has lessened, especially since they came out here.

Gladio slips from the bed, mindful of which floorboards squeak despite the care with which he laid them. There’s a jumble of clothes on the chair in the corner and he finds what he wants before stealing away to the bathroom to dress. He splashes some water on his face and scoops his hair back with a tie, even though the coastal breezes will make short work of it once he’s outside. The lighting in here isn’t great and the features that stare back at him in the mirror are starting to become lined as forty draws ever nearer. But there's a contentment to them now and that’s good enough for him.

One last glance into the bedroom shows him that Ignis is still sound asleep so he grabs his boots and creeps out of the house, his small duffel already prepared once he’s put a couple of items in from out of the refrigerator. On the front porch his fishing equipment is also waiting, ready to go.

The walk down to the beach is a leisurely one. The sky overhead is still dark, but minute by minute the dawn is creeping forward, like a coeurl stalking its prey. The colours are always spectacular in this part of the world, although the break of dawn is still celebrated whatever it looks like. Gladio's not naive. Eventually there'll come a time when it doesn’t hold the awe and reverence it once did. People will just wake and expect it to happen. But not yet. Wherever people are, the dawn is still an event to be treasured—a reminder of what the King of Light did for them.

The path from their house is clearly marked out for Ignis's benefit but eventually it gives way to the sand and shale of the beach. Gladio kicks off his boots and scoops them up, then continues in a straight line until he reaches the shore. The sea is calm today as he takes in a few good lungfuls of the fresh salty air.

Once everything is ready, he rolls up the legs of his trousers and wades into surf. The sun hasn’t had sufficient time to warm the waters yet and he grits his teeth against the chill until he has the chance to adjust. A few more steps and then he casts his line, watching it arc and plop beneath the surface, his float the only thing left visible. The breeze is nice as the sun finds his skin, already darkened by amount of time he's spending outdoors. He keeps his eyes on the float, whilst every so often glancing back towards the house, it’s white-painted clapboard walls and colourful flowerbeds a bright spot amongst greenery. 

The fish are biting and before long he’s caught two decent size sea bass that they can have for dinner tonight. Others he releases from the hook and throws back. He pauses to grab some breakfast from the items he'd packed for himself last night, then changes lures, determined to try and secure some barramundi for a recipe Ignis had been talking about wanting to try.

He's back in the waves when he turns to see a familiar figure picking his way barefoot across the beach. Ignis's cane is less effective on the sand, but it helps him locate Gladio's fishing box and the rug Gladio has laid out and weighted down when he first got here. Ignis lowers himself onto the blanket and turns his face up to the sun. Even from here Gladio can see the smile on his face and it instinctively makes him do the same. He decides he'll give it a few more minutes, just to see if anything bites and to give Ignis a little space to enjoy the solitude. It quickly becomes obvious that Ignis's presence is so distracting he’ll probably miss any action on his line, so Gladio decides to cut his loses.

As he trudges out of the surf, Ignis turns his head. He hasn’t bothered to style his hair and he reaches up to catch hold of the strands caught by the breeze. The soft linen shirt he’s wearing is rolled up at the sleeves, with only the middle buttons holding it closed across his chest. His trouser legs are rolled up too and Gladio smiles to himself at the picture of relaxation and contentment he’s projecting.

“Much biting?” he enquires as Gladio approaches.

“Yeah. Caught us a couple sea bass. Thought we could have those tonight.”

“Dark or Copper?”

Gladio glances down at the bucket. “Copper.”

Ignis nods thoughtfully, presumably pondering what will accompany them best out of the neatly labelled supplies he keeps in the kitchen. 

“I’ve been trying for some barramundi but they ain’t interested.”

“Not to worry.”

Gladio lays down his fishing rod and comes to sit beside Ignis on the rug. Once he's seated, he reaches for Ignis's hand and drops a kiss on it. Out here Ignis still wears his visor, but mainly to protect his scars from the sun. Both eyes are closed, but his mouth remains tilted in that serene smile—a smile that sings directly to Gladio's soul. Sometimes Gladio thinks he's gonna wake up back on his rock-hard bedroll in the wastes and realise this is nothing more than a cruelly beautiful dream because it’s more than he ever thought possible.

“I love you,” he says, seemingly apropos of nothing even though Ignis will know that something in his thoughts will have triggered the desire to let him know. 

“I love you too.”

They sit for a few moments more, side by side in companionable silence. Gladio finds himself pulled both ways—the breeze keeping him wide awake while the roar of the ocean lulls him to sleep. 

“It’s so perfect here,” he murmurs, resting on his elbows and shading his eyes so he can look over at Ignis. 

“Mmm.”

Gladio studies him for a moment more. “I know you wish he was here too.”

There’s no sting of jealousy when he says that anymore. Ignis and Noct will forever be inexplicably linked and Gladio's long since accepted that will always be the case. Truth is, he wants it too. And Prompto. Just like the times in The Before that they reminisce about freely despite the fact that the nostalgia is so bittersweet. When they sat around a campfire and talked and laughed together. Four friends with the future stretching ahead of them, like the highway the Regalia had broken down on so soon after they’d left the crown city. “Maybe next time, huh?”

He watches as Ignis nods. “I did suggest he might benefit from a break himself, but he wanted to finalise the trade deal with Accordo. I probably should have stayed myself. You know how he is when it comes to paperwork.”

“Yeah, thing is, I’m pretty sure you’re here because Noct ordered you to. He knows you work too hard.”

“As do you,” Ignis counters.

“Exactly. Which is precisely why he told us it wasn’t optional.”

“At least he’s got Prompto for company, although Bahamut only knows what they’ll be eating if they’re fending for themselves.” 

Gladio chuckles. “There's only Noct who can be ruler of an entire country and insist on doin' that. I can’t imagine King Tronitrus surviving off takeaway pizza, can you?”

“A new ruler for a new age, I suppose,” Ignis says, smiling. “Besides, I have a standing agreement with the pizza place he uses to sneak in vegetables where possible.”

Gladio stares, then gapes, then lets out a full belly laugh. “Holy shit, you’re not kiddin', are you?”

The answer is obvious as Ignis readjusts his shirt, smoothing the front down with that enigmatic smile still playing at his lips. “It goes without saying I expect your complete discretion pertaining to that disclosure, Gladio.”

“Hey,” Gladio laughs, holding his hands up, “my lips are sealed.”

“Wonderful.”

After a moment Gladio decides to make his own confession. “I get Iris to check on them and then she reports back to me.”

Now it's Ignis's turn to laugh, his head nodding approvingly.

Gladio returns to watching the scenery. Overhead some gulls circle before diving into the ocean and emerging with some poor unsuspecting fish. After a few moments, Gladio says, “So d'you wanna be heading back tomorrow?”

Ignis turns his head, like he’s seeing Gladio and trying to gauge the spirit in which the question is being asked. “Tomorrow or the day after; Noct said not to rush.”

It’s music to Gladio's ears. Yeah, they need to be getting back to Insomnia and their respective duties, but he's also more than happy to stay a little longer, in the house they built together when the Long Night finally ended. One day they‘ll make it their home for good, but for now it’s their sanctuary, a tranquil place to escape to when they need a break from the city.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, thinking of a couple more days of them alone with the waves crashing on their doorstep and clear skies overhead. “It sounds good to me.”

**End**


End file.
